
Glass. 
BooL 



fJj+ BOl 



/O 



TEE 



H 

RHETORICAL SPEAKER; 



COMPRISING 



SELECTIONS FOR DECLAMATION!, 



SUGGESTIONS, DESIGNED TO ASSIST THE EFFORTS 



INEXPERIENCED SPEAKERS. 



« 

ADAPTED TO THE PRINCIPLES OF INFLECTION, EMPHASIS, MODULA- 
TION AND GESTURE PRESENTED IN PORTERS 
RHETORICAL READER. 



BY T. D. P. STONE, 



ANDOVER: 
PUBLISHED BY GOULD AND NEWMAN. 

NEW YORK: 

DAYTON & SAXTON, CORNER OF FULTON AND NASSAU STREETS, 
ALLEN AND MORRILL... .PRINTERS. 

• 1841. 






?is*i. 



o\ 



*^ 



27097 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1841, by 

GOULD AND NEWMAN, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 



OFCr 




PREFACE. 



This compilation was made (with the exception of 
corrections and additions) in 1838. — If this had not been 
the case, other pressing duties would have prevented its 
present publication. The circumstances under which it 
was prepared are the only apology for adding another 
to the many excellent treatises, and selections for reading 
and speaking, now before the public. During a protrac- 
ted interruption of my college course by inflammation of 
* eyes, I was unexpectedly invited to give instruction in the 
principles of the " Analysis of Vocal Delivery" — then 
just published. A want of other employment which suit- 
ed my case, and the kind solicitations of friends, whose 
partiality led them to place undeserved confidence in the 
proficiency made under the early training in elocution 
which I had received, led me to accept their invitation. 
And for a period of ten years my attention was directed, 
at intervals, as other duties allowed, to the same subject. 
As a matter of course, my eye has been arrested, in 
various readings and studies, by whatever would serve as 
a declamation for my pupils in elocution. In this way 
some thousands of pieces have been collected, and from 
them this selection is taken. Those teachers, who use 
the Rhetorical Reader as a reading book, will find this vol- 
ume a convenient sequel to that work, and the student 
who has become familiar with the vocal elements of that 



IV PREFACE. 

work, or of Porter's Analysis, will find himself at home in 
the directions and notation here presented. 

My principal object has been to prepare a selection of 
pieces for speaking particularly adapted to follow the Rhe- 
torical Reader, when the selections it contains have be- 
come trite by frequent repetition. 

Many, in this day, object to the practice of speaking 
in schools, and colleges, as having a tendency to produce 
formality, and stiffness. But the necessity of constant 
practice in declamation is acknowledged in all our acad- 
emies and colleges, by the regular monthly or weekly ex- 
ercises which are appropriated to this object. Whatever 
theories, or systems of elocution are adopted, and what- 
ever course of instruction is given, it is generally allowed 
by teachers, that no progress can be made in public speak- 
ing without personal experience, and effort. Many stu- 
dents, however, feel that talent and learning can render 
this practice unnecessary. But the timorous youth who re- 
solved never to trust himself to the water until he should 
have acquired the art of swimming, had a far better pros- 
pect of becoming an expert swimmer, than the student 
can have of becoming an orator, while he stands aloof 
from public declamation. And he who makes that exer- 
cise a delight, and perseveres in it, with patient efforts to 
improve, will (if properly instructed) eventually be a good 
speaker. 

It is true, he may be able to speak well without the 
slightest pretensions to the name of orator. That word 
implies a kind and degree of mental power, and a fund 
of knowledge which are not requisite to form a mere de- 
claimer. Such power must be previously possessed, — 
that knowledge must be acquired, — or his ability to control 



PREFACE. V 

assemblies by glowing words will be small indeed. Bat 
neither a strong mind, nor an education in other respects 
complete could have enabled Demosthenes to plead in pub- 
lic with success, until skill in declamation came to his aid. 
Then his power knew no bounds. A whole nation trem- 
bled at his words, and were borne onward by them, as by 
a resistless torrent. 

Plutarch tells us that u in his first address to the peo- 
ple of Athens, Demosthenes was laughed at, and inter- 
rupted by their clamors, on account of bis violence, and 
confusion." At another time we are told when his 
speeches had been ill-received, and he was going home 
with his head covered, and in the greatest distress, Saty- 
rus the player, who was an acquaintance of his, followed, 
and went in with him. Demosthenes lamented to him, — 
" That though he was the most laborious of all the orators, 
and had almost sacrificed his health to that application, 
yet he could gain no favor of the people ; but drunken 
seamen, and other unlettered persons, were heard, and 
kept the rostrum, while he w 7 as entirely disregarded. 
" You say true," answered Satyrus, " but I will soon pro- 
vide a remedy, if you will repeat to me some speech in 
Euripides or Sophocles." When Demosthenes had done, 
Satyrus pronounced the same speech ; and he did it with 
such propriety of action, and so much in character, that 
it appeared to the orator quite a different passage. He 
now understood so well how much grace and dignity of 
action adds to the best oration, that he thought it a small 
matter to premeditate and compose, though with the ut- 
most care, if the pronunciation and propriety of gesture 
were not attended, to. Upon this he built himself a sub- 
terraneous study, which remained to our times. Thither 

1* 



VI PEERAGE. 

he repaired every day, to form his action, and exercise his 
voice." 

In drawing a correct conclusion from this statement we 
must remember that the father of Demosthenes was a 
wealthy citizen of Athens, and left a large fortune to his son. 
Although a considerable portion of this was squandered 
by his guardians before he was of age, still, he was ena- 
bled by this means to receive instruction from the most- 
eminent teachers. Among these were Callias and even 
Plato. We see therefore, that it was not want of intellect, 
nor want of education that rendered his first public efforts, 
as a speaker, abortive. He could do nothing till, with the 
hints of Eunomus, and of Satyrus the player, his own con- 
tinual practice rendered him familiar with the principles 
of declamation. Numerous other examples might be 
cited in proof of the necessity of constant practice in 
the aspirant to skill in oratory. But the following com- 
pilation is not designed for those who need to examine a 
labored argument, before they can feel the value of pub- 
lic declamation, as a means of improvement in speaking. 
To such, all arguments on this subject would be useless, 
in this place, for they will neither purchase the book, nor 
feel interest enough in the subject to read what it contains? 
when it greets them from the shelves of others. A large, 
and increasing portion of young men in our academies 
and colleges do, however, feel a deep interest in public 
declamation. They prize the exercise, and profit by it, 
and many of them are now nerving themselves for col- 
lision with giant minds in our senate-chambers, and at the 
bar, and for the still more important efforts of the pul- 
pit ; but they find it difficult oftentimes to select from 
voluminous pamphlets, and papers, and speaking-books* 






TREFACE. . VII 

suitable pieces to speak. And when selected, such pieces 
are often too long, or too short, or not intelligible. When 
the latter is the case, and when the circumstances, and 
character of the author are not known, it is difficult, if not 
impossible to speak well. One object in this compilation 
has been to assist this class of students. The pieces here 
selected have been taken from a large collection of simi- 
lar works, and from the published speeches of English and 
American orators although many extracts are not credited, 
the authors being unknown. They are often curtail- 
ed, and sometimes slightly altered or transformed to adapt 
them to my object. I have aimed to prepare such a 
selection as I needed myself when a student, and such as 
the christian parent, and pious student would fully ap- 
prove. How far my aims have been accomplished, those 
whose improvement I have constantly kept in view must 
decide. Should they derive advantage from these pages 
in becoming better qualified to plead their country's cause,, 
— to defend suffering innocence, — or to point their fellow 
men to the Lamb of God, my efforts will be amply re- 
warded. 

T. D. P. STONE. 

Jlndover, Mass. July. 1841. 



SUGGESTIONS 



TO BEGINNERS IN DECLAMATION. 



No one feels more awkwardly in a new situation than the 
young man, who, for the first time, stands up before an au- 
dience to declaim. He generally knows that he is awkward. — 
He is conscious that his motions are stiff, — -and that his whole 
appearance indicates to others something like affectation. Yet 
he knows nothing of any remedy for his embarrassment. He 
cannot tell what is wrong in himself, and is still less competent 
to correct faults which he can detect. He has no standard to 
guide him. He searches the various books of declamation 
which surround him for directions. But they are all too gen- 
eral to be of any service to him, or too technical and nice for 
him to understand. Now if he fails to interest his audience, 
or what is worse, if he excites their merriment, by his uncouth 
efforts, he is discouraged. Perhaps he resolves, as Demosthe- 
nes did in a similar case, to go on, — and conquer his awk- 
wardness, cost what it may. But probably he will come to 
the conclusion that he was not " born an orator," and therefore 
" cannot become one," — a kind of logic which he himself 
must scorn, when applied differently. He would hardly say 
" I was not born ric/i, and therefore cannot become so." — In 
this, as in all other pursuits, " I will " should be his motto, 
and then " I can" will soon be proved. — This discouraged state 
of mind has been exhibited by a large number of young gen- 
tlemen while under my instruction. They have generally 
overcome these difficulties with the aid of a little encourage- 
ment, and a few simple directions like the following, which are 
subjoined for the benefit of such as may feel similar difficulty 
in beginning to speak in public— If they shall appear to some 
too minute and trivial, still there are others who will prize 
what they find to be adapted to their own wants. 

Causes of discouragement. These are various, and un- 
avoidable. All find them. Young speakers are often dis- 
couraged because they are embarrassed^ as if that feeling were 
peculiar to themselves. But Cicero, "the prince of Eloquence," 
tells us that he always felt it, even till the close of his public 
life. And he suggests ; that it is no cause of discouragemem, 



SUGGESTIONS TO BEGINNERS. V 

but the reverse ; for no man will take sufficient pains to speak 
well who does not feel thus.' Some of the causes, however, 
are obvious and easily corrected. 

Improper dress. — The youth who should happen to glance 
at his feet, on his way to the stage, and perceive that his boots 
greatly needed brushing, would probably, if he had any sense 
of propriety, feel mortified. That circumstance alone would 
be enough to excite deep chagrin, though he might be, mean- 
while, unconscious of the cause of his feelings. 

So with any mistake as to dress. Who has not seen the 
boy, who could speak well on other occasions, appear to great 
disadvantage, on attempting to declaim in an out grown dress, 
which allowed his arms and ancles to dangle from his sleeves 
and pantaloons. Unusual attention to dress is often equally 
injurious to the success of the declaimer. The very tightness 
oi^ a fancy slipper, or the oddity of a ruffled shirt, or a new 
coat to which he is entirely unused, may disconcert him. 

This will more certainly be the case should he chance to 
hear (as he probably would) ''something great now, I suppose," 
from the lips of a thoughtless, sportive companion, who is dis- 
posed to rally him for his finery. 

Proper dress. — Dress then should be neat, — generally such 
as would be suitable for attendance upon public worship. — 
Experience has proved that such attention to clothing by a 
speaker is never lost. — The adage " a man appears best in 
his sunday coat" is true, at least in public declamation. Yet 
all studied foppery of dress is extremely disgusting to every 
audience, — even more so than the roughness of the clown. 
Want of practice. — No lecturer on Chemistry, Electricity 
or other Natural Sciences would venture upon a public illus- 
tration of his subject until his apparatus, and each experiment 
had been previously adjusted, and tried, even though he has 
long experience upon which to rely. 

But many a youth presents himself to speak in public, who 
has made no private preparation. Who can wonder then that 
the failure and embarrassment to which such a course would 
lead the experienced lecturer, is equally exhibited in the 
youthful speaker ? I would say to every declaimer, ex- 
perienced or not, — you must rehearse your piece in private, — 
and that often, and with great care, or you cannot succeed. 
Select a retired recess in a neighbouring grove, or a retired 
room, — your own room, if you have access to no better,— then 
speak as you would upon the stage. But you cannot speak 
well to bare walls, nor to the trees. You must therefore 



10 SUGGESTIONS TO BEGINNERS. 

transform them into intelligent human beings, all listening to you. 
— You must imagine your audience before you, just as it will 
be in reality. Make the whole scene real, — and you can hardly 
fail of success, if you persevere. If possible, you should ac- 
tually speak upon the stage, when the spectators are absent, 
before you appear publickly. — Then you will find yourself 
at home and in no new employment, when you declaim. 
This course would remove nearly all the diffidence alluded to 
above, or enable you to conceal it. 

Forgetfulness often embarrasses a youth as he rises to 
declaim. The slightest effort at recollection should be avoid- 
ed. The words should flow, as if extempore, from the lips 
of a ready speaker. When this is not the case, awkwardness 
is almost sure to be the result. 

Too great length of declamations often retards improvement. 
We cannot do too much to secure success. But we may 
throw away labour upon a long continued effort, which, if ap- 
plied properly, to a short one, would be very valuable. In or- 
der to secure constant improvement, sufficient time should be 
taken to allow of attention to the pronunciation, and inflection 
of each word, — to the position of the body in each emotion, — 
and to the form, direction, and force of each gesture. This 
can be done when the speaker commits but one third or one 
half of a page. But it is ordinarily impossible to do this well, 
when one or two pages are to be rehearsed. A short decla- 
mation, well committed, well studied, and well spoken, is worth 
more to a young man than a number of lengthy pieces spoken 
in an ordinary way. Indeed the latter do little other good 
than to enable him to face his hearers. And this might be 
learned by standing up a few minutes, and gazing at an au- 
dience—mute. 

Misunderstanding the author's meaning is a fruitful source 
of failure. Many public speakers always follow the same 
tones, positions and gestures in every variety of subjects. 

Such a course may promote equability of feeling in the 
speaker, and it rarely fails to lull an audience into stupor. 
Nothing but gigantic powers, or thrilling occasions can ever 
prevent that effect, in such cases. Yet every one who attempts 
to repeat what he cannot fully comprehend, becomes insensi- 
bly thus monotonous. Any one who has heard the hurried 
jargon of our court criers, can readily recall such a tone, al- 
though it arises in that case, not from the incapacity of the 
officer to understand what he says, but from the utter want 
of meaning in the form itself, and from the dullness of re- 



SUGGESTIONS TO BEGINNERS. 11 

peating it frequently. The youth who selects declamations 
which contain thoughts, or even words which he does not ful- 
ly understand, will, before he is aware of it, find himself form- 
ing a habit of speaking, too similar to the crier's jangle. 

And not only should the thoughts themselves be compre- 
hended, but the object, and circumstances of the author should 
be understood. 

A youthful disputant arose in a public lyceum meeting, and 
introduced a short speech by the words " I am astonished." — 
A gentleman present deemed it best to employ the same words 
in irony, — making sport of the first speaker. Here, circum- 
stances and object would vary both the tone, and gesture, if 
gesture were used. So it must ever be with the circumstan- 
ces for which any declamation was originally prepared. Let 
these be ascertained, and then the speaker, by imagining him- 
self in the same circumstances, will be much more likely to 
throw his feelings into what he rehearses. It may be proper 
to say in this connection, the subjects, form, and style of the 
selections generally present these facts in this work. This 
difficulty suggests another very common cause of failure in 
declamation, as well as in courts, public halls, and pulpits. 

Want of emotion is the source of incalculable mischief to 
both speakers and hearers. No power of imitation, and no 
effort at deception can ever make up for want of feeling. 
Even a dry specimen of demonstrative reasoning is dull, if un- 
accompanied by interest in the reader. — Yet multitudes of as- 
piring youth attempt to atone for listlessness by vociferation, 
and abundant, wild, and inappropriate gestures. 

Ignorance of the meaning of tones and gestures is another 
cause of failure in efforts upon the stage. I am well aware 
that those who are conscious of being geniuses are accustom- 
ed to look at all rules, as an impediment to the free action of their 
transcendant powers. Rules of school and college are, in 
their opinion, barely tolerable, — and by no means binding on 
them. But rules for managing, and for guiding gesture are in- 
sults to their intuitive perception of what is proper. Or rather 
such youth are not to be guided by the views of the eloquent 
Athenian, nor by the institutes of Quinctilian ; but since they 
have appeared among men, the world must, of necessity, look 
to their natural actions and views for more perfect models 
than antiquity, or modern experience can unitedly furnish. 
Still, it is true, (such minds thinking to the contrary notwith- 
standing,) that Nature has laws, and that these laws can be com- 
piled, and practically employed, both in singing, speaking, and 



12 SUGGESTIONS TO BEGINNERS. 

gesture. They may tend to make tyros stiff, and fantastic, 
but they are of great service to the patient and active stu- 
dent of elocution. While a little knowledge of them is an 
hundred times worse than none at all, a thorough, practical 
acquaintance with them lies at the foundation of successful 
speaking. 

They are not minute. There are but a few general prin- 
ciples, which suggest others of less importance, and which 
rather serve to open the eyes of the student, for the employ- 
ment of his own taste, than furnish a perfect guide in particu- 
lar cases. Many works are now before the public designed 
to subserve this end. The Analysis of Dr. Porter, to which 
allusion is made in the preface, together with the compend of 
that work, found in his Rhetorical Reader, seems to be best 
adapted to aid the efforts of the young speaker. I should feel 
some hesitation in speaking thus of the works of one so dear 
as their revered author must ever be to an adopted son, did 
not the thousands of copies which are yearly called for by a 
discerning public, evince their merit. My only object in re- 
ferring to them, however, is to urge those young gentlemen 
who are striving to excel as speakers to become very familiar 
with one of those treatises, practising the exercises daily, until 
the voice is perfectly under control. These principles are 
often referred to, in connection with the following selections. 

Those who use this work will bear in mind that the usual 
brevity of speaking exercises, renders it very desirable that 
single speakers should be short in their declamations. I have 
already suggested that more is to be gained, especially by those 
who have not been much accustomed to the exercise, by con- 
centrating all their efforts upon a short piece, than by the la- 
bour of preparing a long one. In this work, I have occasion- 
ally introduced very short extracts designed for beginners, 
very young speakers, and for private rehearsal to acquire skill 
in various gestures, and representations of different passions. 
The length of pieces is uniformly much less than other works 
generally present, the reason of which is stated above. The 
difficulty of becoming interested in short extracts, will be 
found to be obviated in a great degree by the alterations, and 
transpositions introduced for that purpose, as well as by 
the frequent explanations and suggestions which have been 
prefixed to many of the selections. My conviction of the in- 
utility of dialogues for ordinary purposes of declamation has 
excluded them altogether. The pieces are arranged in three 
parts, under appropriate heads. 



PART I. 
INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 



These pieces are designed to enable the speaker to face his audience 
without embarrassment, which is the first step to successful declama- 
tion. Generally in this part little gesture is required, but inflection 
and emphasis (see Porter's Rhetorical Reader, pp. 27 and 39) should 
receive careful attention. Pronunciation should also be settled by 
consulting a dictionary constantly. 

An example of strong emotion. — Senator Wickliffe, of 
Kentucky. 
In the motion I made, I intended to provoke no man's ire. 
I repeatedly stated that I had always been in favor of a Bank, 
— that I was still in favor of one ; but that I deemed the reso- 
lution calculated to do no good, and that it might do harm. 
True, I did further state that I considered the Message on the 
subject of the Bank, very exceptionable, and an unconstitu- 
tional interferance with what properly belonged to the judg- 
ment of the Legislature alone ; and I did further complain 
that it had in other particulars, improperly, in my opinion, in. 
terfered with the right of the Legislature to constitutionally 
judge for itself of the propriety of levying taxes. If my mind 
was not decidedly opposed to the resolution, a just sense of 
the rights of the Senate would impel me to vote against a 
resolution so pressed upon the Senate. 



An example of colloquial narrative. — Rev. W. W. Thompson. 

When we were coming from Hamah, the officer forced an 

Ansairyman to accompany us through the blindest part of the 

2 



14 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

road. As this man could not run away from us, and was also 
a very plain and simple-hearted farmer, I resolved to make a 
desperate effort to draw something out of him. So I got off 
my horse and walked with him, got a pipe and helped him to 
smoke it, and after going through all the necessary prelimina- 
ries, I told him something about ourselves and the people of 
America. Then, as if by accident, I inquired whether he was 
a Greek or.Maronite, a Moslem, or Ansairy. "lama farm- 
er," said he. " I know you are a farmer, but what religion 
do you profess ?" " We are all farmers.'" " Very well, but 
are you an Ansairy ? " Yes." " Well, what religion do you 
believe ?" " Believe ! we have no belief." " That is impossible. 
Every body believes something. Why cannot you tell what 
you believe ? The Moslems have their Koran, the Jews their 
sacred books, the Christians have the Bible, the heathen, even, 
will show you their idols. When a man keeps anything so 
secret, I must fear there is something bad about the matter* 
Tell me, who do you think made the world ?" " This hill, sir, 
is very steep." " I know that very well, but I asked you who 
made the world, and said nothing about the MIL Can you 
not tell me who made it ?" " Do you see that white building 
yonder ? that is the tomb where if any one has sore eyes he 
will be cured immediately." Said I, "but we will talk about that 
after a while. I want to know whether you do not believe in a 
God of some kind or other ?" " May God curse that donkey." 
" The donkey goes very well, and you should not curse the 
beast ; besides, you used the name of God. Who is he, what 
do you believe about him ?" " Is it not near noon, sir? we 
have four hours yet to Horn." In utter despair I gave him 
over. 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 15 

A plea for China, addressed to the British ministry. — Dr. 
Phillip. 
My sentiments and feelings, sir, are not uncommon in the 
religious world, which is happily not an uninfluential one now. 
I do not, however, represent any society or section of that 
world. I have neither their sanction nor their knowledge. I 
am indeed the corresponding secretary of a private body of 
christian observers, who watch for China, and study and love 
all missionary societies, in both Europe and America ; but we 
never seek the sanction of any of them, although our object is 
to help them all. I ground my claim upon your attention^ 
therefore, not upon my official character, but simply upon the 
fact that I have travelled, spoken, and written not a little for 
five or six years, and never at the public expense, in order to 
make friends for China, at home and abroad. I thus know 
widely and well the precise tone of religious feeling, especially 
in England, Wales, and Scotland, upon the opium trade as it 
affects the progress of Christianity in China : and I am in- 
structed, as well as inclined, to tell you, sir, with all respect, 
that tens of thousands in the British churches are now on the 
tiptoe of both hope and fear for China. The termination of 
the war with her, and the terms of peace offered to her, will 
thus affect the character of Government in the estimation of a 
class, whose good will is worth keeping. I say keeping, be- 
cause the present Government have gained it already by the 
spirit in which they treated the claims of the contrabandists 
for compensation, and because they have not exactly lost it by 
declaring war against China. They will thus be judged, not 
by the war, as we now know its character, nor by such repri- 
sals as merely demonstrate national honor, but by the condi- 
tions of peace. And should these provide either sanction or 
connivance for the opium trade, in any form or under any 
name, or not provide equal protection for all peaceable men, 
such peace with China will be denounced as war with Heaven, 



16 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

by more and better men than any ministry can now afford to 
despise or overlook. 



Judicial decision. — Judge Purviance. 
(Requiring very slow, and calm utterance.) 
Sitting in the Court alone, when these trials took place, I 
forebode to yield to the petition of the jury, believing that pub- 
lic justice required the enforcement of the sentences awarded 
by the Court. The outrages committed by the accused, ac- 
cording to the testimony of the prosecutor, and which received 
full credit from the jury, were of a character to require the 
utmost rigor of the law. Humanity, in the administration of 
criminal justice, is sometimes a delightful attribute ; but there 
are occasions when its exercise would manifest only a false 
tenderness toward'the guilty, and defeat one of the great ends 
of public punishment, which is, to protect society against the 
repetition of similar offences. There was nothing in the cir- 
cumstances of the outrages to palliate the conduct of the accu- 
sed ; they were all of an aggravated nature, and showed a 
spirit of riot and insubordination, wholly incompatible with that 
good order and government without which there can be no se- 
curity for the enjoyment of life or property. I have duly 
weighed the subject since the trials, and subsequent reflection 
has served but to confirm the impression then made, that it 
would be improper in me to interfere with the judgment al- 
ready pronounced. 



" The Sea" — Greenwood. 

This extract requires gesture. Let the speaker feel, and then let 
his hands move where they will, and he will not be likely to err. 

There is a mystery in the sea — there is a mystery in its 
depths : it is unfathomable. Who can tell, who shall know, 



THE NESTORIANS. 17 

how near its pits run down to the central core of the world ? 
Who can tell what wells, what fountains are there to which 
the fountains of the earth are in comparison but drops. Who 
shall say whence the ocean derives those inexhaustible sup- 
plies of salt which so impregnate its waters, that all the rivers 
of the earth, pouring into it from the time of the creation, have 
not been able to freshen them ? What undescribed monsters, 
what unimaginable shapes, may be roving in the profoundest 
places of the sea, never seeking, and perhaps from their na- 
ture, unable to seek, the upper water and expose themselves 
to the gaze of man ! What glittering riches, what heaps of 
gold, what stores of gems there must be scattered in lavish 
profusion on the ocean's lowest bed ! What spoils from all 
climates, what works of art from all lands, have been en- 
gulphed by the insatiable waves! Who shall go down to ex- 
amine and reclaim this uncounted and idle wealth ? Who 
bears the keys of the deep ? And oh ! yet more affecting to 
the heart, more mysterious to the mind, what companies of 
human beings are locked up in that wide, weltering, unsearch- 
able grave of the sea. — W T ho shall tell the bereaved to what 
spot to cling? — Where shall human tears be shed, throughout 
that solemn cemetery ? It is mystery all. The winds alone 
may sigh, the clouds alone may weep over those mingled 
sepulchres. 



The Nestor ians. — Dr. Anderson. 
Turn now to the Nestorians. Here is a community about 
as large as that at the Sandwich Islands, and thrown, as it were, 
into our arms. We found it, however, a nominally Christian 
community, and it carries back its Christianity to apostolic 
times. The Nestorians in ages past were an enterprising and 
zealous body of Christians. They were a missionary church ; 
and they are now the purest branch of the ancient church. 
All they need at our hand is, to have the learning and spirit 

2* 



18 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

of the gospel revived among them. Why not at once give 
them an educated priesthood ? The papists are on every side 
of them, flushed with victory over a part of that very people, 
and straining every nerve to get possession of the residue. If 
money, zeal, craft and u compassing sea and land," can ex- 
tend the papal sway over them, it will be done. So important 
a body of Christians, situated so advantageously for exerting 
an influence on central Asia, ought not to be lost to the church 
of God. It would require but a few thousand dollars a year 
to effect this object, in addition to what is needed for the sup- 
port of the missionaries. It should rebuke our fears in respect 
to difficulties that may arise, to remember that, for ten years,, 
the tide of Nestorian feeling has gone with our efforts for 
their spiritual renovation, and that the Spirit of the Lord is 
evidently with us. Let us aim to finish this work, without de- 
lay. Celerity of movement is necessary to success. A slow, 
irresolute course may be expected to result in divisions and 
parties among the people, and in a partial, if not total, failure. 
Let us move onward, then, and rescue our Nestorian brethren 
from their spiritual foes, and make them our efficient allies.— 
God will aid us. We cannot fail. Let us see to it that the 
goodly harvest, now covering those fields, be not torn from us 
and destroyed through our sloth, and our avarice, to our loss 
and our shame. 



The Home of the Poor. 

The annals of the poor teach us that they are not only 
drawn to commit such crimes as subject them to heavy pun- 
ishments, but others, (in a moral point of view scarcely less 
criminal,) are so common as to be characteristic. 

Parental affection and authority scarcely exist among pau- 
pers. There are no domestic influences but those of the worst 
kind. Parents have no power to be kind to their offspring, and 



AMERICAN ENTERPRISE. 19 

the children owe nothing to their parents. One of our best 
writers speaking of the pauper, says, " He is married of 
course ; for to this he would have been driven by the poor 
laws, for the sake of the extra provisions, but he has never 
tasted the highest joys of husband and father. His partner^ 
and his little ones being, like himself, often hungry, and sel- 
dom warm, sometimes sick without aid, and always sorrowful 
without hope, are greedy, selfish, and vexing, so fc he hates the 
sight of them,' an expression but too common in his mouth." 
" The child of the very poor," says Lamb, " does not prattle, 
no one has time, no one thinks it worth while to coax it, to 
toss it up and down, and to humor it. There is none to kiss 
away its tears. If it cries, it can only be beaten. It never 
had a toy, or knew what a coral meant. It was never sung 
to, no one ever told it a nursery tale. It was dragged, not 
brought up, to live or die, as it happened. It had no young 
dreams. It broke at once into the iron realities of life. It is 
only another mouth to be fed, a pair of little hands to be ear- 
ly inured to labour. It is the rival, till it can be the coope- 
rator for food with the parent. It is never his mirth, his 
soiace ; it never makes him young again." Said I not truly 
that the home of the poor is no home ? Bitter indeed is his 
lot. And woe to the land whose morals and whose laws tend 
to poverty. 



American Enterprise. 

Look over the map of our country. Only about two hun- 
dred years have elapsed since the foot of the pilgrim first trod 
these western shores. Then a vast interminable forest spread 
its shades all over this land — broken in upon only by the prai- 
ries, or the lakes, that opened their bosom to the sun, or by 
the floods that rolled on to the ocean. Then the sound of the 
woodman's axe had not been heard. The vast solitude had 



20 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

been disturbed only by the savage war-cry. Not a bridge 
was thrown over the streams ; not a road penetrated the deep 
forest ; not a sail whitened these bays and seas ; not a boat, 
save the fragile bark of birch, was upon the waters ; not a city 
sent its hum up to heaven ; not a village, save the temporary 
abode of the wandering savages, was on the vast landscape. 
Two centuries have gone, and how changed the scene ! Our 
cities already rival those of the old world ; and when some 
half a dozen on other continents are named, ours comes next 
in the numbers of their population, and are already among the 
first in commercial importance. As if by magic, they start up 
all over the land ; and even while the remains of the forest 
stand around them, palaces rise, and wealth flows there, as to 
a centre, and the din of commerce is heard afar. 

Can any fail to see in this fact the necessity of religion in 
those cities ? All in those cities are free, and generous, and 
active, and mighty. There is an energy and zeal in the af- 
fairs of the world which is fitted to make men great and glo- 
rious in religion, as in commerce. There is an ardor that needs 
only to be directed to the concerns of the soul, to be adapted 
to the times in which we live, and to the great enterprise of 
the conversion of the world. 



The Pioneers narrative. — Rev. F. Badger. 
(Requiring mere recitation in a simple, easy style.) 
In the fore part of August, 1804, as I was returning from a 
southern tour, to save distance, I took a course through the 
woods. Soon after I entered them it began to rain, which 
made my progress slow, especially as I had to swim my horse 
through a stream raised eight feet by the shower. It contin- 
ued to rain. I reached the first crossing place of Grand Riv- 
er for many miles, after sunset. There I crossed the river and 
concluded to camp for the night. Riding up to a place of 



CHURCH ORDER. 21 

fallen timber, some animal started out on the opposite side. 
I rode a little by to see what company I was like to have, and 
was met by a large bear, that immediately threatened an at- 
tack I walked my horse partly by and he came in behind 
me, and drew nearer. It now became so dark I could see 
nothing, but could hear the snapping and snuffing of the bear. 
To ride away from him was impossible. I concluded to climb 
a tree, if I could find one. I reined my horse to the left, and 
limbs struck my hat. I reined him farther, and he came with 
his shoulder close to a beach tree. I tied the reins to some 
small limbs, raised my feet on the saddle, and went on to the 
tree. As I was getting upon some limbs about six feet above 
my horse, the bear came to the tree. After a few minutes, he 
began smelling at the horse, which paid no attention to him, 
but continued browsing. I went up about forty feet, found a 
place to sit among the limbs, and tied myself to the tree with 
a long bandanna. The rain now began to pour down again. 
The horse shook himself ; that startled the bear ; he went a 
few rods from the tree, snuffed and snapped violently and 
waited till near daylight, when he left the ground. I reach- 
ed home about the middle of the day, wearied, but not dis- 
heartened. 



Church order. — Anon. 

In a well regulated family, every member has his appro- 
priate place, and keeps it. Parents, children, domestics, seek 
to discharge their respective duties, and are mutual aids in 
labor, or enjoyment. Where it is otherwise, confusion and 
misery abound. 

In a well ordered shop, there is a place for every tool, and 
every tool is in its place. When the mechanic wishes to 
perform a peculiar piece of work, he knows precisely the in- 
strument with which it is to be done, and just where Xojind it. 



22 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

If it were otherwise, he would be constantly embarrassed, and 
often utterly frustrated in his labors. So it is on a farm, or in 
the store of the merchant, or the office of the lawyer or physi- 
cian, or the study of the clergyman. " A place for everything, 
and everything in its place," is a motto of sufficient aptness 
and importance to be ascribed over every man's door. 

The motto has an obvious application to the church. 
There are diversities of gifts, and graces, and callings. All 
cannot be the head, or the hands, or the feet : As in the body 
there are different members, and each has its appropriate 
functions to perform, so there are different members in the 
church, to which distinct and suitable spheres of duty belong. 

And one of the highest attainments which a church mem- 
ber makes, is to learn his place and keep it. In an army all 
cannot be leaders or officers, but all are soldiers, and all have 
something to do. In the church all cannot be officers, but all 
are soldiers of the cross, and all have much to do for Christ 
and his cause. And if the church felt this truth and acted 
upon it ; if every pastor could always see his whole church 
as a well regulated family, or a well disciplined army ; with 
every member at his post, and in just the way that is becom- 
ing and desirable, helping on the kingdom of the Redeemer, 
how prosperous and happy would be that church. The pray- 
er of Saul of Tarsus is never inappropriate : ; Lord, what wilt 
thou have me to do V But many are slow to offer the peti- 
tion, and slower still to obey the answer when it comes. 



The voice of Shipwreck. 
(Requiring solemn, sad recitation.) 
At our last annual meeting, the brevity of life and the dan- 
gers to which seamen are liable, were presented, as motives 
to persevering and active effort ; but, as we listened, we were 
utterly unconscious that those dangers had been fully realized 



THE VOICE OF SHIPWRECK. 23 

by eleven from this community — from one congregation — the 
young, the vigorous, buoyant with health and hope, who per- 
ished in those dreadful autumnal gales, the tidings of which so 
soon after we received. But, since that time, the sea hath in- 
deed spoken ! " The floods have lifted up their voice, the 
floods have lifted up their waves." The silver cords of friend- 
ship and love have not only been loosed, but riven asunder ! 
The precious golden bowls have been broken, swallowed up 
by the raging billows of the ocean, or cast upon the sea-shore 
as useless things. 

In those fearful nights of storm and tempest, what prompted 
that solicitude — those heart-felt prayers ? Was it for the fair 
fabrics of human skill, or for the living, thinking beings who 
manned and guided gallant barks ? 

And while our sympathies were excited by accounts of 
shipwreck and loss of life, at which humanity well might 
weep, and charity turn pale, an affecting and appalling catas- 
trophe, which has lost none of its horrors by time, occured on 
yonder seashore, by which a vessel from this port was lost, 
and thirteen, including all on board, perished, some of whom 
as it were, in sight of home and all their hearts held dear ! 
Such news, while it caused our hearts to thrill with anguish, 
and touched a chord which vibrated in every heart, sent the 
heavy surges of sorrow into the hearts of two connected with 
this society, with all that intensity with which a stranger to 
such afflictions intermeddleth not. 

Heard ye no voice in these events and those which follow- 
ed ? Did not the silent but crowded assembly, the aisle, filled, 
indeed, not with living sailors, but those on whom Death had 
set his seal,— the requiem, the burial rites of those " by stran- 
gers honored and by strangers mourned," — did not these 
speak to us in loud and thrilling tones ? To us the warning 
comes : " What thou doest for the sailor, do quickly." 



24 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

Detraction.— Mrs. Opie. 

It is a generally admitted truth, that observation is one of 
the most effectual methods of improving the mind. Observa- 
tion^ therefore, may be justly reckoned amongst the most val- 
uable faculties which we possess. But, like all other gifts, it 
is liable to be abused, especially when it is exercised on the 
character of others : Then, if not under the directing and re- 
straining power of religious principles, it leads to that per- 
nicious vice in society, known by the name of Detraction. 

To observe (that is to discover) the faults and vices of those 
with whom we associate, is often a measure necessary for 
self-defence. But if the observers of the frailties of their 
friends and acquaintances make those frailties the theme of 
backbiting conversation, they pervert the useful faculty of ob- 
servation to the most pernicious of purposes. 

All who have lived in the world with any consciousness of 
their own besetting sins, or those of others, must readily admit, 
that in every class or rank in society, from the peer to the 
peasant/ from the master to the valet, from the mistress to the 
maid, from the most learned to the most ignorant, from the 
man of genius to the man of the meanest capacity, detraction 
is among the most common of all vices. It is one in which 
persons indulge with perfect self-complacency as well as evi- 
dent enjoyment. 

Should self-reproach and moral disgust at a long continued 
detracting conversation lead any individual to endeavour to 
change the subject, and raise its tone to a more intellectual 
pitch, how often is the virtuous effort wholly fruitless. — How 
often do others present seize the first opportunity of escaping 
from the useful consideration of things, to the mischievous 
discussion of persons. To the mental eye, this scene of petty 
warfare against absent friends and acquaintances seems strew- 
ed with mutilated qualities, mangled talents and shattered 
reputations. 



BIBLE VIEW OF MAN^S FUTURE STATE. 25 

Bible view of Man's Future State. — Stuart. 

The Bible is the only sure source of knowledge, in regard 
to the future destiny of our race. This alone is to be relied 
on, in the ultimate settlement of the great question, whether 
we are to be forever happy or miserable. 

But how is this question to be settled by the Bible ? Is this 
to be done, by carrying along with us, when we go to inter- 
pret the Bible, principles which decide beforehand what, in 
our view, the Bible ought to speak, and draw from these, con- 
clusions as to what it does speak ? Is any other book on earth 
interpreted in this manner ? Or at least if it be so, do not all 
men declaim against the unfairness and the partiality of such 
an interpretation ? After all, surely it cannot be for the ulti- 
mate interest of any intelligent and rational being, who is fa- 
vored with the Scriptures, to force on them a method of inter- 
pretation, which he would complain of, when applied to any 
other book. It cannot be for his ultimate interest, to make a 
mistake in respect to the tremendous subject of a future state. 
Above all, if it should at last prove to be true, that the present 
life is the only state of probation for men, a mistake as to the 
consequences of this probation, must be of an importance which 
no language can describe, and of which no heart can even 
conceive. 

To settle the question whether endless punishment is pos- 
sible, before we come to the Scriptures for investigation ; and 
then to search them merely to see whether we cannot find 
something to confirm our views, or to remove the difficulties 
which the Bible throws in our way ; is virtually to renounce 
the Scriptures as our guide, and to set up our own conclusions 
and reasonings in the place of them. But how are men to 
answer to their own consciences, and to that God who is the 
author of the Bible, for so doing? And after all, what is to 
be the ultimate rule of the divine proceedings, in regard to us? 
Are we at our own disposal ? Or are we in the hands of an 

3 



26 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

almighty God ? Are our views and conceptions to be the rule 
of his dealings with us ; or are his own views of right and 
wrong, of merit and desert, to guide his disposal of us and 
ours -? 



Slander.— Milford Bard. 

(To be spoken very slowly.) 
What is slander ? 
Tis an assassin at the midnight houf 
Urged on by 'Envy* that, with footstep soft, 
Steals on the slumber of sweet innocence* 
And with the dark drawn dagger of the mind, 
Drinks deep the crimson current of the hearU 
It is a worm that crawls on beauty's cheek, 
Like the vile viper in a vale of flowers* 
And riots in ambrosial blossoms there* 
It is a coward in u coat of mail* 
That wages war against the brave and wise* 
And like the long lean lizard that will mar 
The lion's sleep, it wounds the noblest breast; 
Oft have I seen this demon of the soul, 
This murderer of sleep, with visage smooth, 
And countenance serene as heaven's own sky ; 
But storms were raving in the world of thought : 
Oft have I seen a smile upon its brow ; 
But like lightning from a stormy cloud, 
It shocked the soul and disappeared in darkness. 
Oft have I seen it weep at tales of wo, 
And sigh as 'twere the heart would break with anguish ; 
But like the drops that drip from Java's tree, 
And the fell blast that sweeps Arabian sands, 
It withered every flow'ret of the vale. 
I saw it tread upon a lily fair, 



man's primeval state. 27 

On one of whom the world could say no harm ; 
And although sunk beneath the mortal wound, 
It broke into the sacred sepulchre, 
And dragged its victim from the hallowed grave 
For public eyes to gaze on. It hath wept, 
That from the earth its victim passed away 
Ere it had taken vengeance on his virtues. 
Yea, I have seen this cursed child of Envy 
Breathe mildew on the sacred fame of him 
Who once had been his country's benefactor ; 
And on the sepulchre of his repose, 
Bedewed with many a tributary tear, 
Dance in the moonlight of a summer's sky, 
With savage satisfaction. 



Man's primeval State. — Catlin. 
(This and several following pieces require simple recitation.) 
The state of mankind, in which they were created, was a 
state of felicity. It was a state of mind perfectly free from 
envy, malice, or ill-will ; perfectly free from shame, remorse, 
or regret ; full of joy in God, and in his holy and wise gov- 
ernment. The bodily state in which man was created, was 
as happy as a bodily existence is capable of being made. Of 
all possible worldly delights, the first parents of our race had 
a fullness. These were doubtless received with great thank- 
fulness of heart, though they constituted but a small part of 
human felicity. The highest felicity of man in his original 
state, was of a heavenly nature ; but probably fell short of the 
happiness of Heaven in its degree. Man was made a little 
lower than the angels, and capable of a less degree of felicity. 
In their original state, mankind experienced no tokens of di- 
vine displeasure ; but the highest tokens of divine approba- 
tion. Man was, indeed, destined to moderate and pleasing la- 



28 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

bour; but to suffer no inclement seasons, no painful embar- 
rassments; — no ill success, in all their labours for a subsis- 
tence. Adam and Eve performed their pleasant toil in the 
garden of Eden, to keep it and to dress it. Their labour 
might be attended with a degree of weariness, and probably 
with a degree suited exactly to sweeten the hours of rest. 
Though mankind might not, in their original state, have been 
made alogether invulnerable ; yet they might, and probably 
did, in a remarkable degree, enjoy divine protection. So that, 
in fact, they suffered no real evils, in consequence of their 
partaking of flesh and blood. The world in its original state, 
was exactly fitted for the accommodation of man, and of all 
the living creatures, which were subject to his dominion. All 
yielded a willing and peaceful subjection ; and all were at 
peace among themselves. The earth was made perfectly 
convenient and fruitful, perfectly healthful and pleasant ; and 
since man was so exalted and dignified in this lower world, we 
may conclude, that in his state of innocence, he had very lit- 
tle, if any occasion for an unpleasant sensation of body or 
mind. Another thing which rendered the state of man, be- 
fore the fall peculiarly happy, was the anticipation of a more 
happy and glorious immortality. This world, beautiful and hap- 
py as it was in its primeval state, was not formed for the final 
and everlasting residence of mankind. Our first parents were 
doubtless taught to look forward, and hope for a more exalted 
state of existence, among the holy angels, and the glorious 
cherubim and seraphim in Heaven ; they were taught to con- 
sider this world as a state of probation, for one inconceivably 
more glorious and happy. Had they fulfilled the duties of 
their probationary state, their exit from this bodily state of ex- 
istence would have been like that of Enoch, and Elijah. 
Probably they anticipated this glorious result of their proba- 
tion, with but little apprehension of the danger of apostasy. 
And their holy souls were feasted from day to day, with the 
prospect of heavenly felicity, 



THE PORTUGUESE MAN OF WAR. 29 

The " Portuguese Man of War" — Anon. 

The innumerable tribes of insects which swarm in every 
part of the world, delighting us by the brilliancy of their co- 
lors, or tormenting us with their attacks upon our persons or 
property, although their armies sometimes render large tracts 
of country uninhabitable, destroying every living vegetable in 
their career, even these interminable hosts must yield the 
palm in number, beauty, every thing except destructiveness, 
to the iris-colored denizens of the ocean. Every leaf of sea- 
weed, every fragment of floating timber, every cubic inch of 
water, teems with life in some of its most interesting forms, 
studding the blue expanse of waves with animated gems, 
which sail along its surface, or lie hidden within its bosom. 
Of all the tribes of molluscae which are scattered over every 
part of the ocean, one of the most beautiful and best known is 
the Portuguese Man-of-war. 

This very singular animal consists of an oblong animated 
sack, filled with air, elongated at one extremity into a conical 
neck, and surmounted by a membranous expansion, which, 
running nearly the whole length of the body, and rising above 
into a semi-circular form, can be expanded or contracted at 
the pleasure of the animal : this constitutes his sail. From 
beneath his body are suspended several small tubes, from half 
an inch to two inches in length, open at the lower extremity ; 
these have been regarded by some comparative anatomists as 
temporary receptacles for food, like the first stomach of ru- 
minating animals. From this assemblage of tubes depends a 
cord, never exceeding a quarter of an inch in thickness, but 
often forty times as long as the body of the animal. 

The size of the Portuguese Man-of-war varies from half an 
inch to six inches in length. When it is in motion, the sail is 
accommodated to the force of the breeze, and the elongated 
neck is curved upwards, making the animal very much re- 
semble the little glass swans, which are sometimes seen swim- 

3* 



30 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

ming in mantel vases. It is not the form, however, which 
constitutes the chief beauty of this little navigator: The lower 
part of the body and the neck are colorless, except a faint irri- 
descence in reflected light, and they are so transparent that 
the finest print is slightly if at all obscured when viewed through 
them. But as the back rises from the neck, it becomes grad- 
ually tinged with the most delicate blue ; the color of the base 
of the sail rivals the purest sky in depth and beauty of tint ; 
while the summit is of the most splendid red, and the central 
part is shaded by the gradual mixture, of these colors through 
all the intermediate grades of purple. Drawn, as it were upon 
a ground work of mist, these rainbow tints possess an aerial 
softness far beyond the reach of art. As these colors all van- 
ish so soon as the animals die, they furnish no specimen for 
the cabinets of the curious ; nor can any adequate conception 
be formed of the beauty of the scene, the graceful motions, 
the blending of gorgeous and delicate tints which a fleet of 
these little sailors presents, on a calm summer day, in mid 
ocean, but by those who have themselves witnessed it. 



Importance of a knowledge of Civil Institutions. — Sullivan. 

The people of this state have undertaken to preserve and 
transmit civil and religious liberty, and the blessings of life, 
by the administration of just and equal laws, made in conform- 
ity to written constitutions, voluntarily adopted. 

There must be, somewhere, an authority competent to judge 
whether such laws are so administered. This authority resir 
ded in those who instituted our Government : It passed to their 
successors. It resides always, in those who compose the po- 
litical community. This community has not only the exclu- 
sive right to judge whether power established for its benefit, is 
constitutionally exercised, but also the absolute right to amend, 
and even to abolish, an existing system, and substitute any 
other. 



LAFAYETTE AT WASHINGTON^ TOMB. 31 

Such sovereign power, implies knowledge of the subjects 
to which it is to be applied ; and, as there is no distinction in 
the political rights of the members of the community, every 
citizen who has attained to the age of twenty-one years, is en- 
titled to all the rights of citizenship, and is held to the per- 
formance of all its duties. He must, therefore, be presumed 
to know what these rights and duties are. 

Every citizen of the state, is also a citizen of the United 
States Being entitled to all the rights of national citizenship 
and held to the performance of all its duties, he must be pre- 
sumed to know what these are. Among these are included 
the duty, and consequently the competency of judging, whether 
those who undertake to administer the National Government, 
execute their trust with ability and faithfulness. Such know- 
ledge should therefore be obtained by all our citizens, yes 
required as a condition of citizenship. 



Lafayette at Washington's Tomb.— Levasseur. 

After a voyage of two hours, the guns of Fort Washington 
announced that we were approaching the last abode of the 
Father of his country. At this solemn signal, to which the 
military band accompanying us responded by plaintive strains, 
we went on deck, and the venerable soil of Mount Vernon 
was before us. At this view, an involuntary and spontaneous 
movement made us kneel. We landed in boats, and trod upon 
the ground so often trod by the feet of Washington. A car- 
riage received General Lafayette ; and the other visitors si- 
lently ascended the precipitous path which conducted to the 
solitary habitation of Mount Vernon. In re-entering beneath 
this hospitable roof, which had sheltered him when the reign 
of terror tore him violently from his country and family, 
George Lafayette felt his heart sink within him, at no more 
finding him whose paternal care had softened his misfortunes ; 



32 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

while his father sought with emotion for everything which re- 
minded him of the companion of his glorious toils. 

Three nephews of General Washington took Lafayette, his 
son, and myself, to conduct us to the tomb of their uncle : our 
numerous companions remained in the house. In a few min- 
utes the cannon, thundering anew, announced that Lafayette 
rendered homage to the ashes of Washington. Simple and 
modest as he was during life, the tomb of the citizen hero is 
scarcely perceived among the sombre cypresses by which it 
is surrounded. A vault slightly elevated and clodded over,— 
a wooden door without inscriptions,— some withered and green 
garlands, indicate to the traveller who visits the spot, where 
rest in peace the puissant arms which broke the chains of his 
country. As we approached, the door was opened. Lafay- 
ette descended alone into the vault, and in a few minutes af- 
ter re-appeared, with his eyes overflowing with tears. He 
took his son and me by the hand, and led us into the tomb, 
where, by a sign, he indicated the coffin. We knelt reveren- 
tially, and rising, threw ourselves into the arms of Lafayette* 
mingling our tears with his. 



Temperance.*- Anon. 

Let the Temperance reform be completed, and man will 
assume almost the harmlessness of a dove. We may rent 
our jails for workshops, and turn our vast prisons into colleges, 
and laboratories for the improvement of man. 

Has our perfect system of government been shaken to its 
foundation ? and all our free institutions, have they tottered 
before the violence of political animosity ? What has excited 
that violence ? Every man knows that has been to the polls. 
And if our government is ever overturned, it will be by the 
enemy we are opposing. A nation of tipplers would be inca- 
pable of self-government. Their intelligence wasted, their 



A PICTQRE DRAWN FROM NATURE. 33 

hearts sensual, their nerves unstrung, they could neither main- 
tain their rights against the arts of the wily at home, nor de- 
fend them, when invaded hy a foreign foe. 

No patriotism has the man who, through ardent spirit, is 
despoiled of all the tender affections of father, husband, son ; 
who will sit in a grog-shop and curse the restraint that is laid 
by the laws of God and man upon his debased appetite. He 
will sell his country for a glass of rum. In the free circula- 
tion of ardent spirit at elections and political meetings, the axe 
is laid at the root of the tree of liberty. A power is put into 
the hands of artful demagogues, before which, virtue and pat- 
riotism will be swept as chaff before the whirlwind. Nothing 
but the Temperance reform will save our country. Should 
intemperance increase for fifty years in the same ratio that it 
did for twenty years previous to 1826, about one third of our 
voters would be common drunkards, though the population 
were one hundred millions. Let the Temperance cause pre- 
vail, and the tree of liberty will never be endangered. Men 
will have cool minds and dispassionate judgments. Revolu- 
tion and blood will find no favorites. The men that would 
overturn and overturn, must go elsewhere for plunder. The 
people will read, and think, and act for themselves. Instead 
of taverns and dram-shops, in which men shall waste their 
time, intellects, and affections, there will be libraries, lyceums ; 
mental and moral improvement. Our country will strengthen 
in everything that appertains to true national glory ; and 
all our free institutions will be handed down unimpaired, to the 
latest generations. 



% 



A Painting from Nature. — Goodman. 
(Animated rehearsal, with gesture.) 

5 Tis midnight's solemn hour ! now wide unfurl'd 
Darkness expands her mantle o'er the world : 




34 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

The fire-fly's lamp has ceased its fitful gleam ; 
The cricket's chirp is hushed ; the boding scream 
Of the grey owl is stilPd ; the lofty trees 
Scarce wave their summits to the failing breeze ; 
All nature is at rest, or seems to sleep ; 
" 'Tis thine alone, O man ! to watch and weep: 
Thine 'tis to feel the system's sad decay, 
As flares the taper of thy life away, 
leneath the influence of fell disease :— *- 
hine 'tis to know the want of mental ease, 
pringing from memory of time misspent; 
Of slighted blessings; deepest discontent, 
And riotous rebellion 'gainst the laws 
Of health, truth, heaven, to win the world's applause, 
-<—See where the waning moon 
Slowly surmounts yon dark tree tops, 
Her light increases steadily, and soon 
The solemn night the stole of darkness drops • 
Thus to the sinking soul in hours of gloom, 
The cheering beams of hope resplendent come, 
Thus the thick clouds which sin and sorrow rear, 
Are changed to brightness, or swift disappear. 
Hark ! that shrill note proclaims approaching day ; 
The distant east is streak'd with lines of grey ; 
Faint warblings from the neighbouring groves arise, 
The tuneful tribes salute the brightening skies, 
Peace breathes around ; dim visions slowly creep, 
And man aroused — breaks from his dreamy sleep, 



A suspicious Case,— Goldsmith. 

When the spirit of the English is once roused, they either 
find objects of suspicion or make them. On the twelfth of 
August, one Kirby, a chymist, accosted the king as he was 



A SUSPICIOUS CASE. 35 

walking in the park. u Sir," said he, " keep within the com- 
pany, your enemies have a design upon your life, and you 
may be shot in this very walk." Being questioned in conse- 
quence of this strange intimation, he offered to produce one 
doctor Tongue, a weak, credulous clergyman, who had told 
him, that two persons named Grove and Pickering were en- 
gaged to murder the king ; and that sir George Wakeman, 
the queen's physician, had undertaken the same task by poison. 

Tongue was introduced to the king with a bundle of papers 
relating to this pretended conspiracy, and was referred to the 
lord treasurer Danby. He there declared that the papers were 
thrust under his door ; and he afterwards declared that he 
knew the author of them, who desired that his name might be 
concealed, as he dreaded the resentment of the Jesuits. 

This information appeared so vague and unsatisfactory, that 
the king concluded the whole was a fiction. However Tongue 
was not to be repressed in the ardour of his loyalty ; he 
Went again to the lord treasurer, and told him that a packet of 
letters, written by Jesuits, concerned in the plot, was that night 
to be put into the post-house for Windsor, directed to one Bed- 
ingfield, a Jesuit, who was a confessor to the duke of York, and 
who resided there. Those letters had actually been received 
a few hours before by the duke, but he had shown them to the 
king as a forgery, of which he neither knew the drift, nor the 
meaning. 

Titus Oates, who was the fountain of all this dreadful intel- 
ligence, was produced soon after, who with seeming reluc- 
tance came to give his evidence. This Titus Oates w 7 as an 
abandoned miscreant, obscure, illiterate, vulgar and indigent. 
He had been once indicted for perjury, was afterwards chap- 
lain on board a man of war, and dismissed for wicked prac- 
tices. He then professed himself a Roman Catholic, and 
crossed the sea to St. Omer's, where he was for sometime 
maintained in the English seminary of that city. At a time 
when he Was supposed to have been entrusted with a secret 



36 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

involving the fate of kings, he was allowed to remain in such 
necessity, that Kirby was obliged to supply him with daily 
bread. 

He had two methods to proceed, either to ingratiate him- 
self by his information, with the ministry, or to alarm the peo- 
ple, and thus turn their fears to his advantage. He chose 
the latter method. He went, therefore, with his two compan- 
ions to Sir Edmundsbury Godfrey, a noted and active justice 
of peace, and before him deposed to a narrative, dressed up 
in terrors fit to make an impression on the vulgar. The pope, 
he said, considered himself as entitled to the possession of 
England and Ireland on account of the heresy of the prince 
and people, and had accordingly assumed the sovreignty of 
these kingdoms. 



Career of Buttmann.— Dr. Robinson. 

(Narrative.) 
Philip Charles Buttmann was born at Frankfort on the 
Maine, in 1764. After the usual preparation, he pursued hi3 
studies at the University of Gottingen ; not without distinction, 
it would seem, for we afterwards find him as an instructor 
and governor in the family of the Prince of Anhalt Dessna. 
But he appears early to have preferred a life of private study ; 
avoiding in this way the responsibilities and absorbing duties 
of a public teacher, and devoting himself without the abstrac- 
tions of public obligations, to philological pursuits and inves- 
tigations. With this view he fixed his residence at Berlin, 
where he lived many years as a private citizen ; and where 
in the free use of the treasures of the royal library, and in so- 
cial intercourse and interchange of views with Keindorf and 
Spalding, at that time distinguished professors in the Gym- 
nasia of Berlin, he arrived at those results and adopted those 
principles which he has spread before the world in his various 



CAREER OF BUTTMANN. 37 

grammatical and philological treatises. In 1800 he was ap- 
pointed Secretary of the Royal Library, and became at a la- 
ter period one of the principal Librarians. At the same time 
he accepted the appointment of Professor in one of the princi- 
pal Gymnasia of Berlin. He became also an active member 
of the philological class in the Royal Academy of Sciences ; 
and to this source we owe many of his smaller essays and 
treatises. On the establishment of the University of Berlin 
in 1809, he seems by choice not to have taken part in it as a 
regular professor ; but the excitement inspired by the estab- 
lishment of so noble an institution, and daily intercourse with 
the corps of distinguished scholars thus collected,— as Wolf, 
Niebuhr, Savigny, Schleiermacher, and at a later period, Bek- 
ker, Bockh, etc.— imparting new vigour to his exertions, and 
led him if not to a wider range of study, yet to the exhibition 
of greater productive power, and to a more extensive commu- 
nication of the results of his researches. As a member of the 
Academy of Sciences, he enjoyed the privilege of delivering 
lectures or of otherwise imparting instruction in the Univer- 
sity. With Wolf he engaged in the publication of the Mu- 
seum Antiquitatis ; and several of the most solid articles of 
of that work, are from his pen. In 1816 he completed the 
edition of Quinctilian commenced by his friend Spalding, and 
left imperfect at his decease. In 1821 he gave to the public 
a new and enlarged edition of the Scholia on the Odyssey, 
discovered by Angelo Mairo. 

The latter years of Buttmann's life were embittered by se- 
vere physical suffering. His body was racked by rheumatic 
affections, which deprived him in a great measure of the use 
of his limbs, and finally terminated his days, Jan. 21, 1829. 



38 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 



Intellect and Will. — Upham. 

The popular author of Literary Hours has given in one of 
his Works, an interesting biographical sketch of Sir Richard 
Steele. After remarking upon the inconsistencies of his life, 
his excellent resolutions and his feeble performances, his suc- 
cessive seasons of riot and of repentance, he refers the cause 
of these inconsistencies to the feebleness of the will ; and in 
doing it, he incidentally, but very clearly, makes the distinc- 
tion under consideration. " His misfortune, the cause of all 
his errors, was, not to have clearly seen, where his deficien- 
cies lay ; they were neither of the head, nor of the heart, but 
of the volition. He possessed the wish, but not the power of 
volition to carry his purposes into execution." As we are not 
at liberty to suppose, that so respectable a writer employs 
words without meaning, he must be regarded as intending to 
make the distinction, which has been asserted to exist. 

The reference just made to the personal history of the dis- 
tinguished English Essayist, leads us to remark incidentally 
upon biographical narratives in general. Biographers are 
supposed to study carefully the lives of those persons, of whose 
characters they give an account ; and if this supposition be as 
correct as it is reasonable, they may justly be ranked among 
the valuable contributors to a true knowledge of mental his* 
tory. A knowledge of a man's life and character of course 
implies a knowledge of his mind. And the character of any 
one man, whoever he may be, and in whatever situation he 
may be placed, of course throws light on the human mind in 
general. In Dr. Curriers well written Life of Burns, it is as- 
serted, that the force of that remarkable poet lay in the powers 
of his understanding and the sensibilities of his heart. And 
the writer not only thus indicates the distinction between the 
understanding or intellect and the heart ; but in another pas* 
sage, which undoubtedly discloses the key to the poet's char* 



CHINESE HABITS. 39 

acter and conduct, he distinguishes both of them from the vol- 
untary powers. The passage referred to is this. " He knew 
his own failings ; he predicted their consequences; the mel- 
ancholy foreboding was not long absent from his mind ; yet 
his passions carried him down the stream of error, and swept 
him over the precipice he saw directly in his course. The 
fatal defect in his character lay in the comparative weakness 
of his volition, which, governing the conduct according to the 
dictates of the understandings alone entitles it to be denominated 
rational." 

In looking into an Essay on Decision of Character, we find 
the following passage, confused somewhat by the indulgence 
of figurative terms, but yet explicit enough for our present 
purpose. u A strenuous will must accompany the conclusions 
of thought, and constantly urge the utmost efforts for their 
practical accomplishments. The intellect must be invested, 
if I may so describe it, with a glowing atmosphere of passion, 
under the influence of which the dictates of reason take fire, 
and spring into active powers ." 



Chinese Habits. — Dr. Lardner. 

The Chinese empire occupies an extent of surface equal 
to all Europe, containing within it every variety of soil and 
climate, and natural production ; thus rendering it in itself 
perfectly independent of all foreign aid. In its social institu- 
tions it has presented through all periods a model of the 
primitive form of government, the patriarchal, and an exem- 
plification of the evil of continuing it beyond its just and 
necessary period. In China all is at a stand-still ; succeeding 
ages add not to the knowledge of those that have gone be- 
fore ; no one must presume to be wiser than fathers : around 
the Son of Heaven, as they designate their emperor, assem- 
ble the learned of the land as his council ; s» in the provinces, 



40 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

the learned in their several degrees surround the governor ; 
and laws and rules are passed from the highest down to the 
lowest, to be by them given to the people. Every, even the 
most minute, circumstance of common life is regulated by 
law. It matters not, for example, what may be the wealth 
of an individual, he must wear the dress and build his house 
after the mode prescribed by ancient regulations. In China 
everything bears the stamp of antiquity : immoveableness 
seems to be characteristic of the nation ; every implement 
retains its primitive made form ; every invention has stopped 
at the first step. The gradual progress towards perfection of 
the Caucasian race is unknown in China ; the plough is still 
drawn by men ; the written characters of their monosyllabic 
language stand for ideas, not for simple sounds ; and the labo- 
rious task of learning to read occupies the time that might be 
employed in the acquisition of valuable knowledge. 

Literature has been at all periods cultivated by a nation 
where learning (such as it is) is the only road to honor and 
dignity, and books beginning with the five Kings of Con-fut- 
see, which equal the four Vedas of India in the honor in 
which they are held, have at all times been common in this 
empire. A marked feature in the Chinese character is the 
absence of imagination : all is the product of sound reason. 
The Kings speak not of a God, and present no system of re- 
ligion : everything of that nature in China came from India. 

Everything that hopes for success in this country must fall 
in with the national character. China has often been over- 
come, and its reigning dynasty changed; but the manners 
and institutions of China remain unaltered, as different from 
those of the Caucasian race as the features of the Chinese 
face are from those of the European.' 



METAPHYSICS. 41 

Metaphysics. — Dr. Day. 

But why may we not save ourselves all this trouble ? Why 
not lay aside metaphysics altogether, as of no use in theologi- 
cal inquiries; and rely on the simple testimony of Scripture 
alone, as the foundation of our doctrinal belief? Very excel- 
lent advice this, if we can only persuade the religious com- 
munity to come into the measure. A great advance will be 
made in the habits of thinking among Christians, when they 
shall be content to derive all the articles of their religious be- 
lief from the Bible ; when they shall adopt no theological 
philosophy, but the philosophy of the prophets and apostles. 
But what is to be done, when a man brings forward his meta- 
physical machinery to do the work of interpreting the Scrip- 
tures; when the truths of inspiration are so modified, as to 
be made to coincide with his preconceived opinion. By 
what standard is the validity of his philosophical theories to 
be tried, if they are not weighed in his own balance ; if you 
do not meet him on his own ground, and bring his philosophy 
to the test of philosophical scrutiny ? Do you say, that it 
would be better to bring it directly to the standard of the 
Scriptures ? But he makes his philosophy the standard of 
Scripture, instead of admitting the Scriptures to be the stand- 
ard of his philosophy. There are many who find much less 
difficulty in encountering an express declaration of the Bible 
against their opinions, than in meeting a logical argument. 
Others erect a metaphysical theology ; and when a philo- 
sophical objection is brought to bear upon their favorite super- 
structure, they attempt a defence by declaiming loudly against 
metaphysics. Edwards's Inquiry on the Will was not written 
to establish a system of his own, different from any which he 
thought he found in the Scriptures ; but to try the pretensions 
of those who so interpret the Bible as to make it conform to 
their own philosophy. 

4* 



42 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

Bible Testimony. — Dr. Day. 

Those who bring forward their theories, in opposition to 
the doctrines of Scripture, may be met, either by exposing 
the fallacy of their particular views, or by convincing them, 
that a God of eternal truth is to be believed, whatever becomes 
of our hypothesis and speculations. The former method will 
be of little use without the latter. If you merely combat a 
man's particular sophistry, you may only induce him to shift 
his ground ; to substitute one false scheme for another. It 
may sometimes be expedient to use means to silence those 
who array their metaphysical subtilties against the truths of 
revelation. It may be proper to meet them on their own 
ground, and to show them, that upon their own principles of 
reasoning, their positions are unfounded. But even here, the 
object should be, not to prove the doctrines of Scripture, by 
philosophical arguments ; but by shaking the objector's confi- 
dence in his own speculations, to lead him to rest his belief 
on the authority of divine testimony. Unless you bring him 
to this, your efforts will be lost upon him. If he hear not 
Moses and the prophets, Christ and the apostles, you will 
hope in vain to convert him to the true faith, by the aid of 
philosophy. He who believes only what he can prove with- 
out the aid of revelation, is still an infidel. He can never be- 
come a Christian, till he yields his assent to the testimony of 
God in the Scriptures. And then, there will be no further 
necessity of proving to him, without the Bible, the doctrines 
for which the Bible itself furnishes the best of all evidence. 



Bunker Hill Monument. 

We say that we are glad the Bunker Hill monument is in 
the way to be completed. We are glad that it was projected, 
and that the design has been so far successfully prosecuted. 



BUNKER HILL MONUMENT. 43 

A great deal of money has, indeed, been expended upon it, 
which might have been devoted to worthier objects. But 
would this same money have been devoted to such objects ? 
We suppose not. It would probably have remained in the 
hands of its possessors. 

The objection to the monument, that it violates the great 
principles of peace, we cannot sympathize with, any more 
than with that just noticed. Life is not the best thing, nor 
war the worst, as the extreme advocates of peace would have 
us believe. Honor, — using that word in its best sense, is 
worth more than life ; liberty is worth more ; a good name 
is worth more ; the safety, and innocence, and virtue of those 
we love are worth more. For any of these, he does well, 
who gives up, what in comparison, is the merest dross, — his 
life. We would erect a monument of honor and praise in 
our hearts, of marble, too, if we could, — to him, who, rather 
than stand idly by, with folded arms, while a mother, a wife, 
or a daughter was borne away to slavery, or worse, obeyed the 
impulses of his nature, and saved innocence, virtue, or life, 
by taking life. What were the lives of so many taken, 
compared with the salvation wrought out for the weak and 
the innocent ? And what the soil contracted by the soul of 
their slayer, compared with that which would have defiled it 
forever, had it stood for peace, rather than for innocence and 
rights. So it is, we think, with nations. Sooner than be in- 
sulted, trampled upon, enslaved ; sooner than tamely endure 
the aggressions of a selfish, tyrannic, haughty power, — if there 
be no other way, let life be freely offered up ; let it be pour- 
ed out like water ; let the bones of half a generation whiten 
the field of battle. Life, which is the thing of infinitely les3 
account than liberty, than the respect of others, and our own, 
has indeed been sacrificed in hecatombs. But the exchange 
has been profitable, not only immediately for the national glory, 
but in a wider estimate of consequences, for morals, virtue, 
religion, nay, and for peace itself. Rights and justice first. 



44 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

then peace. There can be no lasting peace, that is not found- 
ed in a general virtue ; in the justice and righteousness of one 
nation as well as the submissiveness of another. When we 
cease to honor, in every way, those who carried on our re- 
volution to its successful issue, by the free expenditure of their 
blood and treasure, we lose the possession of the inheri- 
tance they won and have bequeathed. 



Self Control. — Rev. L. Matthews. 

The mastery of himself should be the daily aim of the 
Christian. This indeed, he may not hope to attain by any 
exertion of merely human power. One of the best of modern 
poets has justly said — 

Some dream that they can silence when they will 
The storm of passion, and say c Peace, be still ;' 
But ; thus far and no farther,' when addressed 
To the wild wave, or wilder human breast, 
Implies authority that never can, 
That never ought to be the lot of man. 

Shall the Christian then despair of becoming master of him- 
self, and give up all for lost ? To this conclusion neither the 
Bible nor observation affords the slightest sanction. How 
beautiful, and how impressive too, the example of entire self- 
control exhibited by our blessed Redeemer, who, as the son of 
man, possessed all the characteristics of a human being, de- 
pravity excepted. The pious in every age, in proportion as 
they have possessed his spirit, have possessed something of 
the same power, and have exercised it in the subjugation of 
themselves— Joseph in Egypt ; Daniel and Nehemiah in Bab- 
ylon ; Paul amid the thousand fascinations of voluptuous 
Athens and Rome. 



THE MASSACHUSETTS LICENCE LAW. 45 

Every precept of the Bible addressed to men with respect 
to the performance of their duty, implies the power of self- 
control ; and these precepts are sufficiently numerous and 
specific to apply to all the minutiae of human conduct, es- 
pecially to those actions which relate to the formation of 
spiritual character. Every precept, then, addressed to the 
Christian, encourages effort to govern himself; and presents 
to his view the character in which this grace reigns preemi- 
nent, as the only one which can gain admission to heaven. 



The Massachusetts Licence Law. — Abbott. 

There is one loud united prayer coming up to us from every 
portion of our land, from women and from children, from the 
widow and the orphan, from the weeping wife of the rich in- 
ebriate, and from the miserable tenant of the drunkard's hovel, 
imploring us to protect their families from the ravages of rum. 
The prayer of the intelligent and the pious, comes in harmony 
with the petition even of the drunkard, that these fountains of 
resistless temptation and misery may be closed. Our last 
legislature could not harden their hearts against these awful 
facts and affecting appeals. By an overwhelming majority 
they voted to stop the retailing of rum. 

And now the question is, shall this law be sustained, or 
repealed ? 

Whatever influence we exert on earth we must soon answer 
for at the judgment seat of the common Father of us all. 
Think of your feeliugs on a dying bed. What will be your 
emotions then, if you are constrained to reflect, that your vote 
and influence has aided to unseal the fountains of intempe- 
rance, to spread poverty and multiply crime ; to press from 
woman's eyes tears of agony, and to make to many a family, 
existence on earth an awful curse ; what will be your feel- 
ings, if, when the things of earth are receding from you, and 



46 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

eternal things are opening to your view, conscience is tor- 
mented with the reflection that you have introduced woes to 
the world, which will be deepening and extending long after 
you have gone to your dread account ? 

And will it not, on the other hand, be a pleasing reflection, 
that you have done what you could for suffering humanity ? 
will it not soften your dying pillow, and infuse peace into that 
hour, to reflect that the blessing of the widow and the orphan 
rests upon you, and that you have aided in staying the most 
deadly plague that ever afflicted mankind ? 



Artificial means of producing Rain. — Blake. 

It has been supposed by Sir Richard Phillips, that the quan- 
tity of rain falling upon particular portions of the earth might 
be varied by artificial means. According to his hypothesis, 
the leaves of vegetables and particularly of trees, disturb the 
electricity of the clouds and cause it to rain. Hence he con. 
eluded that more perfect metallic conductors raised to greater 
heights in the atmosphere might be so combined as to produce 
more certain results. 

Pursuing this idea, he traces to the cutting down of trees in 
civilized countries their ultimate sterility, and conceives that 
to this cause solely is to be ascribed the present sterility of 
Syria, Chaldea, and Barbary, once the most fertile regions in 
the world : and he ascribes the oasis of the deserts to the cir- 
cumstance of a few trees being accidentally suffered to grow 
on them. He imagines, that those countries might now be 
restored by erecting on their elevated surfaces a sufficient 
number of metallic rods to arrest the clouds and produce suffi- 
cient rain to sustain vegetation, and refill the almost exhausted 
rivers. 

As fanciful as this theory of Sir Richard appears, it is con- 
firmed by what is taking place in nature. Thus, the first 



CHRISTIAN ENTHUSIASM. 47 

lands over which prevailing winds blow from the ocean are 
always the best watered : and those farther off are less wa- 
tered in proportion to their distance. The western counties 
of Ireland, Ireland itself with respect to England, and the 
western counties of England, with respect to the eastern 
ones, proves the powers of the innumerable spicula of vegeta- 
tion and minerals to disturb the electricity of the clouds, and 
make them fall in rain. From like causes, according to Sir 
William Young, the value of estates in several of the West 
India Islands has been greatly diminished by the cutting down 
of trees. The phenomena of Peru and Chili, in the neighbor- 
hood of the elevated natural conductors of the Andes, where 
it rains almost perpetually, afford a lesson to man, whenever 
the state of society enables him to adopt it. 



Christian ■ Enthusiasms — Anon. 

The Bible, that Magna Charta of the liberties, peace, happi- 
ness, and salvation of man, must be imparted to all the desti- 
tute. Heralds of the cross must be raised up and sent forth 
to publish the glad tidings of mercy to all people under hea- 
ven. The Savior's mandate, " Go ye into all the world, and 
preach the gospel to every creature," given eighteen centuries 
ago to his disciples, will yet be obeyed. Will any say this 
cannot be done ? It can — it will be done. As a pledge of 
this, we have the purpose, covenant, perfections and word of 
God. This great work then, will be accomplished. And as 
an earnest of it, nations have already been converted to God. 
Look for a moment at the success of the Moravian missiona- 
ries in Greenland and Labrador ; of Swartz, and his fellow-la- 
bourers among the natives of Hindoostan. See Vanderkemp 
converting the wandering and ignorant Hottentots, and May- 
hew, Eliot, and Brainerd, the Indians of this country. See 
the wonderful effects attendant upon modern missionary ef- 



48 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

forts. What has been, may be again ; yea, and much more 
will be. The Lord will spread the triumphs of the cross. 
Soon the whole earth will chant the praises of the Redeemer, 
and the song of salvation will echo from shore to shore. 
But in order to this, there must be more fervent prayer, more 
abundant labors, more enlarged charities. In the conquest of 
the world to Christ, the church must become a well disciplined 
army, and every member of it must know his place and duty. 
There must be a mighty onset made against sin and Satan. 
In this war, Christians must enlist for actual service, and for 
life. Is it said this is enthusiasm ? Be it so. There never 
was a great and noble enterprise accomplished without en- 
thusiasm. 



The younger Pitt, — Brougham. 

The true test of a great man — that at least which must se- 
cure his place among the higher order of great men — is his 
having been in advance of his age. This it is which decides 
whether or not he has carried forward the grand plan of hu- 
man improvement; has conformed his views and adapted his 
conduct to the existing circumstances of society, or changed 
those so as to better its condition ; has been one of the lights 
of the world, or only reflected the borrowed rays of former 
luminaries, and sat in the same shade with the rest of his gen- 
eration, at the same twilight, or the same dawn. Tried by the 
test, the younger Pitt cannot certainly be said to have lived 
before his time, or shed upon the age to which he belonged 
the illumination of a more advanced civilization and more in- 
spired philosophy. He came far too early into public life, 
and was too suddenly plunged into the pool of office, to give 
him time for the study and reflection, which can alone open 
to any mind, how vigorous soever may be its natural consti- 
tution, the views of a deep and original wisdom. According- 



DUTY OF ACQUIRING A MUSICAL SKILL. 49 

ly, it would be difficult to glean, from all his measures and all 
his speeches, anything like the fruits of inventive genius; or 
to mark any token of his mind having gone before the very 
ordinary routine of the day, as if familiar with any ideas that 
did not pass through the most vulgar understandings. His 
father's intellect was of a higher order; he had evidently, 
thought without much education, and with no science of any 
kind, yet reflected deeply upon the principles of human ac- 
tion, well studied the nature of men, and pondered upon the 
structure of society. His reflections frequently teem with 
the fruits of such meditation, to which his constantly feeble 
health perhaps gave rise rather than any natural proneness to 
contemplative life, from whence his taste must have been 
alien ; for he was eminently a man of action. His appeals 
to the feelings and passions were also the result of the same 
reflective habits, and the acquaintance with the human heart 
which they had given him. 



Duty of acquiring a Musical skill.— h. Mason. 

There are few persons indeed so destitute of natural quali- 
fications, as to be unable to sing agreeably, by resolute perse- 
verance in a judicious course of practice. And I believe that 
the impediments to great excellence, lie more frequently in 
the want of other attributes, than in deficiency of physical 
power of organs. There are instances even of distinguished 
performers, that commenced their musical education, without 
the slightest hope of gaining any strength sufficient to qualify 
them for the profession, who have, nevertheless, attained a 
most respectable rank in the art. But if this talent has been 
conferred by the Creator on so many, and indeed with few 
exceptions on all, then vocal music is an object of universal 
cultivation. 

Vocal music ought to be generally cultivated. If we have 
5 



50 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

established the point that it can be, few will doubt that it ought 
to be cultivated. Whoever acknowledges the high rank, which 
music demands, and deserves to hold in christian devotion, 
will not consider its cultivation of little moment. If a service 
is acceptable, it is our duty to use every exertion to render it 
worthy of acceptance. If the sacrifice send up a grateful in- 
cense to the throne of God, it should be as much as possible, 
'without spot or blemish.' The musical talent is one given 
by our Maker. It is a responsible and sacred talent ; and can 
we do otherwise than yield to the constraining obligation, 'to 
stir up the gift that is in us ?' Few can plead incapacity, and 
no one has a right to do it, until he has subjected his powers 
to a rigid examination. No talent, however vigorous, springs 
spontaneously into action. Some labor is necessary to unfold 
its latent energies, as well as to improve it. 

Many tatents remain actually unknown to their possessor, 
until circumstances bring them to view. It is not only our 
duty to improve on our own talents, but also to develope and 
cultivate those of our children. ' Not only should persons 
make conscience of learning to sing ; but parents should con- 
scientiously see to it, that their children are taught this, among 
other things, as their education and instruction belong to them. 
The business of common school instruction generally, is no- 
thing else than the harmonious development and cultivation of 
all the faculties of children ; hence, music, as a regular branch 
of education, ought to be introduced into schools. The mu- 
sical talent as well as others, ought to be incited, developed, 
cultivated, and rendered strong. 



Qualities requisite to successful Speaking.*^-!)*. Skinner* 

Style is not natural if it do not vary somewhat according 
to the nature of its subject, and is not marked with the speak* 
er's individuality of mind. But with such variety there are 



QUALITIES REQUISITE TO SUCCESSFUL SPEAKING. 51 

certain attributes of style which always characterize powerful 
speaking. To speak with power, for instance, is to speak 
with plainness, and such plainness as will express the mean- 
ing not only so that it may be understood, but so that it cannot 
be misunderstood ; for what power is there in an utterance, 
the sense of which is uncertain to the hearer? — To plainness, 
must be added simplicity ; because a meaning may be obvi- 
ous, when yet it is so expressed as to have attention seduced 
from itself, to some vain word or ostentatious image in the 
sentence. From plainness and simplicity, purity should not 
be disjoined ; since, in speech, as in everything else, true 
power has no dwelling with vulgarity; and since the end of 
all legitimate speaking is the elevation and refinement of 
man. — Further, the style of a powerful speaker is animated, 
as well as plain, simple and pure. There is life and spirit 
and pathos in his words ; and he deals gracefully and natu- 
rally in allusions, analogies and images. The highest order 
of public speakers, those who keep the attention of auditories 
enchained, are men of rich invention, fertile imagination, and 
deep sympathies ; whose style of speaking is strongly stamp- 
ed with these attributes of their minds. — Finally, boldness 
rather than caution, and energy rather than elegance, are ap- 
propriate qualities of the style of a strong speech ; it being 
the object of such a speech, not to please, but to persuade, 
not to give specimens of fine expression, but to impress some 
subject of great importance strongly on men's minds. 

It is an old and just remark, that, in respect of style, dis- 
course which reaches the mind through the ear, is in some 
proportion to that which suits the close and protracted inspec- 
tion of the eye, as the coarse painting of the stage-scenery to 
the delicate coloring of a miniature. 



52 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

Control of the Thoughts. — Border. 

In the entrance on a course of mental discipline, the effort 
to fix the attention for any length of time on the object of 
study is found to be difficult, if not irksome. Ideas which 
would direct the mind into a different train of thought are 
suggested, either by external circumstances, or by the subject 
under consideration ; and as many of these ideas may be 
more interesting, as well as more familiar to the mind, they 
are not repressed without difficulty, and they still recur after 
reiterated efforts of exclusion. This state of mind induces 
much more painful fatigue than the most vigorous efforts of 
attention, especially as it is associated with the feelings of 
dissatisfaction and regret. 

In proportion to the facility of repelling the intrusion of 
these extraneous ideas, and of directing a fixed attention to 
the object of study, the mind is prepared for success in the 
operations of intellect. There is even reason to attribute 
mental superiority, in no small degree, to the possession of an 
habitual power of control over the train of thought which oc- 
cupies the mind ; and to this power of attention, we are inform- 
ed, Sir Isaac Newton himself ascribed his loftiest attainments 
in science. 

Let then the mind of the Student be deeply impressed with 
a conviction of the importance of this habit, and of the practi- 
cability of making great and indefinite progress in acquiring 
the power of fixed attention. Let him resolve that he will 
daily make the most rigorous efforts; that he will summon 
the full energy of his mind, whenever he is engaged in study ; 
and that he will never tolerate in himself a habit of languid 
and intermitting application. Let him be assured, that if even 
he allow this, he not only loses his time, and frustrates his 
immediate object, but that he injures the tone and impairs the 
rigour of his mind. " When you remit your attention," said 
Epictetus, " do not fancy you can recover it when you please, 



INSPIRED TRUTH THE PREACHER'S GUIDE. 53 

but remember that by the fault of to-day, you will be in a 
worse state to-morrow, and a habit of not attending is induced. 
Why should you not preserve a constant attention ? There 
is no concern of life in which attention is not required." 



Inspired truth the Preacher's Guide. — Burder. 

A preacher has nothing to do to invent new truths, to preach 
those which God does not reveal, or those which he does, in 
any different manner and connection from what he reveals 
them. To the law and the testimony — if preachers speak not 
according to these, there is no light in them. The law of the 
Lord, as he reveals it is perfect, converting the soul. It needs 
only to be understood, and obeyed, to prepare men for hea- 
ven. The testimony of the Lord, as he gives it, is sure, ma- 
king wise the simple. Ail that a preacher has to do, is, in 
the clearest a>nd kindest manner, to exhibit this ; illustrate it 
to the understanding, and impress it upon the heart. " Go ye 
into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature." 
This gospel is that revelation, which is made to men in the 
Bible ; all of which is given by inspiration of God, and is 
profitable, for doctrine, reproof, correction and instruction in 
righteousness, that the man of God may be perfect, thorough- 
ly furnished unto every good work. The whole of this reve- 
lation, would you be instrumental to the greatest extent in sa- 
ving souls, you must preach, and nothing more. The Bible 
must be to you what the pillar of fire and of cloud was to 
Moses. Where that goes, you must go. If you stop, God 
moves on without you. You are left behind , in the wilder- 
ness, without a guide, without a helper. Your safety and your 
success both depend upon following him. Where he stops, 
you must stop. If you move, go which way you will, you go 
without God. Fight as you may, you only beat the air. In- 
stead of conquering, you are conquered. Or if you seem to 

5* 



54 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

yourselves to gain a temporary triumph, and begin to scowl up- 
on less adventurous spirits, who dare not move without God, it 
is only a feint of the enemy to draw you into thicker ambush, 
and sink you into deeper ruin. You may imagine that you have 
hosts strong and mighty, who can overcome in battle ; but 
like the Egyptians in the sea, the more numerous your hosts, 
and the heavier your artillery, the deeper you sink. In a 
warfare like this, nothing can be done without God. And he 
will accompany none, but those who follow him. 



Value of Personal Description in Passports. — J. Q. Adams. 

A particular description of the person, is the very essence 
of a passport, as it is designed to identify the individual by the 
conformity of his person to the marks given, and a passport 
is nothing, and is good for nothing, if it does not accord with 
the marks given. The man who presents it must show by 
this accordance that he is the person named. Every body 
who has ever had occasion to use passports knows this. We 
are not in the habit of using passports in this country ; you 
may go through the country from State to State, freely, with- 
out any passport to show who and what you are and what is 
your business. But throughout the continent of Europe, 
passports are every where necessary. At every town you 
show your passport to a public officer, who instantly com- 
passes your person with the description, and if it corresponds, 
you proceed, but if the description varies from the reality, you 
cannot pass. That is the nature of a passport. It says, let 
the person who bears these marks pass the custom-house, or 
the guard, as the case may be. And its validity depends on 
the accuracy of the description. 

I once had occasion, many years ago, to see the operation 
of these things in a very remarkable case. I was a passenger 
in a merchant vessel, bound to the North of Europe. In pas- 



LEGISLATIVE CONTROL OVER SLAVERY. 55 

sing through the Sound, at Elsinore, we were arrested by a 
British squadron, who brought us to, and sent a lieutenant on 
board to examine our crew. He ordered all the men to be 
mustered on deck, and the captain had no alternative but to 
comply. It was a most mortifying scene to an American. 
Every American seaman was obliged to show his protection, 
the same thing at sea as a passport on the land, to secure him 
from impressment by British cruisers. The officer examined 
every man carefully, to see whether his person corresponded 
with the description in his protection. He finally found one 
young man, who was a native of Charlestown, Massachusetts, 
within ten miles where I was born, but his description was not 
correct, whether through the blunder of the man who wrote it, 
or because he had taken another man's protection, I do not 
know, but the officer said he had a good mind to take him, 
and if I had not been on board, as the bearer of a public com- 
mission in the service of the government, I have no doubt that 
man would have been taken, and compelled to serve on board 
a British man of war, solely for the want of correspondence 
of the description with his person. 



Legislative control over Slavery. — Sargeant. 

To come nearer to the question, I beg leave to ask, is it es- 
sential, by the principles of our constitution, to the character 
of a state, that it should have the power of originating, estab- 
lishing, or perpetuating the condition of slavery within its 
limits ? 

I request gentlemen to pause before they answer this ques- 
tion, and to look it fairly in the face — for it must be met. Is it 
essential to the character of a free republican state, that it 
should have the power of originating, establishing, or perpet- 
uating a system of slavery — so essential that it is not a 
free republican state without the power, nor qualified to be a 
member of this confederacy ? 



56 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

Can it be possible, that a constitution, framed to secure, to 
preserve, and to extend the blessings of liberty, itself rests 
upon a principle so impolitic and so indefensible as this? 
I should very much fear, that we could neither expect the fa- 
vor of heaven, nor the approbation of men, for a constitution 
so constructed— whose professions were so entirely at variance 
with its principles. Can it be pretended, will any one be 
hardy enough to assert, that this power belongs to the rights 
of self-government, or of a just sovereignty, or that it is to be 
arranged in the same class with the authority exercised by 
every well constituted society, in regulating the domestic re- 
lations ? Where slavery exists, it may be, (as was said by a 
gentleman from Virginia) that slaves are regarded as in a 
state of perpetual minority. It might, with equal propriety, 
be said, at once, that they are regarded as in a state of per- 
petual subjection — it amounts to the same thing, for surely no 
man will seriously affirm, that this decree of perpetual minor- 
ity has its source in the same feelings and views, which in all 
civilized nations have led to the enactment of laws for the 
protection of infamy against its own folly and imprudence. 
The one originates in parental affection, anxiously providing 
for the welfare of its offspring, during the period when by na- 
ture the judgment is weak and the passions strong ; and every 
incapacity which the laws have established, is meant as a 
shield for infancy against danger to itself. The other — has 
it any view to the comfort or well-being of this perpetual mi- 
nor ? I will not pursue the inquiry, lest I should wound the 
feelings of some who hear me, and whom I would not willingly 
offend. Where slavery exists, you may call it what you 
please ; you have a perfect right to do so, and to regulate it 
by such laws as you deem best ; but in a discussion like the 
present, it seems to me an utter perversion of sentiment to 
suppose, that it has any resemblance to the endearing relation 
out of which the laws for the government of infancy have 
grown. How is this power essential to the character of a free 



EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF E. LIVINGSTON. 57 

republican state ? Suppose this evil were now happily extir- 
pated, is there any moral or political competency under the 
constitution to restore it among us ? Has any one ever se- 
riously contended for such a power ? No: it certainly could 
not be re-established without the consent of Congress, and yet, 
I think it will scarcely be asserted, that the states would not 
still possess all the essential powers of self-government, and a 
just sovereignty ; that they would not be as free, as indepen- 
dent, as happy, and at least as powerful as they are now. 



Extract from a Speech of E. Livingston. 

Mr. Speaker, — I esteem it one of the most fortunate occur- 
rences of my life, that after an inevitable absence from my 
seat in this House, I have arrived in time to express my dis- 
sent to the passage of this bill. It would have been a source 
of eternal regret, and the keenest remorse, if any private af- 
fairs, any domestic concerns, however interesting, had depriv- 
ed me of the opportunity, I am now about to use, of stating my 
objections, and recording my vote against an act, which I believe 
to be in direct violation of the constitution, and marked with ev- 
ery characteristic of the most odious despotism. We must leg- 
islate upon facts, not on surmises ; we must have evidence, not 
vague suspicions, if we mean to legislate with prudence. 
What facts have been produced ? What evidence has been 
submitted to the House ? I have heard, Sir, of none ; but if 
evidence of facts could not be produced, at least it might have 
been expected, that reasonable cause of suspicion should be 
shown. Here again, gentlemen are at fault ; they cannot even 
show a suspicion why aliens ought to be suspected. We have, 
indeed, been told, that the fate of Venice, Switzerland, and 
Batavia, was produced by the interference of foreigners. But 
the instances are unfortunate ; because all those powers have 
been overcome by foreign force, or divided by domestic fac- 



58 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

tions — not by the influence of aliens who resided among them ; 
and if any instruction is to be gained from the history of those 
republics, it is that we ought to banish, not aliens, but all those 
citizens who do not approve the executive acts. This doc- 
trine, I believe, gentlemen are not ready to avow ; but if this 
measure prevails, I shall not think the other remote. If it has 
been proved that these governments were destroyed by the 
conspiracies of aliens, it yet remains to be shown that we are 
in the same situation ; or that any such plots have been de- 
tected, or are even reasonably suspected here. Nothing of 
this kind has yet been done. A modern Theseus, indeed, has 
told us that he has procured a clue, that will enable him to 
penetrate the labyrinth, and destroy this monster of sedition. 
Who the fair Ariadne is, who kindly gave him the ball, he 
has not revealed ; nor, though several days have elapsed since 
he undertook the adventure, he has yet told us where the 
monster lurks. No evidence then being produced, we have a 
right to say, that none exists, and yet we are about to sanc- 
tion a most important act, and on what grounds ? — Our indi- 
vidual suspicions, our private fears, our overheated imagina- 
tions. Seeing nothing to excite these suspicions, and not feel- 
ing those fears, I cannot give my assent to the bill, even if I 
did not feel a superior obligation to reject it on other grounds. 



Flesh and Spirit. — Tholuck. 

The voice came to the prophet and said, proclaim ! Fie 
asked, what shall I proclaim ? And the voice said, — All flesh 
is grass, and all its goodliness as the flower of the field. My 
friends, the Scripture speaks very diminutively of man. 
Proud mortal, the name which the word of God giveth thee is 
flesh. I am well aware how many among you never see this 
application of the term in the Scriptures without repugnance 
of feeling ; but will you charge the sacred oracle with a mis- 



BASIS OF INFIDELITY. 59 

representation ? There is a wonderful power in the kingdom 
of nature which draws down every particle of matter, toward 
one, single, mysterious, central point. There is the conceal- 
ed operation of a vigorous power, which draws down the 
physical man, irresistibly, to the central point — to his mo- 
ther — to the earth. But man, not only is the earth thy mo- 
ther — the Father of spirits is also thy Father. 

There is another resistless power, a power full of mystery, 
pervading the kingdom of spirit. It is the power of love. 
Everything that is truly spirit, this power attracts to a spirit- 
ual central point, a point of rest ; to its original, to the Father 
of spirits. And as the stone, thrown into the air, does not at- 
tain its resting place until it reaches the ground from which 
it was taken, so nothing which can be properly called spirit, 
is able to find repose, until it rests in the central point of the 
world of spirits, in God. All ye who are here assembled, ye 
future priests and administrators of the mysteries of the gos- 
pel, are ye spirits ? If ye are, then let me ask you, do you ex- 
perience this attracting power of spirits ? Does it draw you, 
without intermission, to the central point of the spiritual world ? 
Can you find no rest until you find it in God ? If you must 
acknowledge that you are not spirit ; if the concealed attrac- 
tion of earth draws down your heart along with your body to 
the dust, then murmur no longer because the Bible calls you 
flesh ;— you are flesh. 



Basis of Infidelity. — Wilson. 

Christianity comes forth surrounded with facts, historical 
proofs, an apparatus of magnificent miracles, a series of proph- 
ecies fulfilling before the eyes of mankind, a super-natural 
propagation and preservation of the gospel in the world, prom- 
inent and obvious good effects as to everything that touches 
human happiness. Infidelity comes forth with petty objec- 



60 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

tions, speculative reasonings, vain imaginations. Christianity 
invites you to believe on far stronger grounds of faith than 
men are governed by every day. Infidelity tempts you to 
believe, on grounds which no single human being ever acted 
upon in common life. Christianity draws her arguments not 
from human reasonings, but from God, from facts, from expe- 
rience, from the plainest dictates of moral duty, from proofs 
tangible and level to our capacity of judging. Infidelity draws 
her objections from the corrupt heart of man, from conjecture, 
from theory, from the plainest contradictions to common sense, 
from reasonings out of our reach, and beyond our capacities. 
Christianity calls on us to obey her revelation, as the remedy 
of our maladies, and a stupendous salvation from eternal death ; 
and makes all her discoveries and mysteries intelligible and 
simple in respect to our duties and wants. Infidelity calls us 
to speculation and presumption ; denies the malady ; con- 
cerns herself with finding fault with the mysteries which she 
will not apply aright, and leaves man without salvation, with- 
out guidance, without consolation, without hope — a wanderer 
in the wilderness of the world. Such is the real character of 
infidel objections, or rather such are the arguments in favour 
of Christianity, which objections so weak and unreasonable 
furnish. 

What, then, practically, is the hold which such objections 
have on men ? How is it that they still prevail on so many ? 
Whence is it, that Infidelity, with such miserable destitution of 
argument, still triumphs so widely amongst the young ? The 
answer is. that the objections fix in unfurnished and vain 
minds ; that they follow upon vicious habits ; that they are 
the judicial infliction of the provoked spirit of God ; that they 
carry off those who have no real hold of Christianity ; that 
they are the great stratagem of the spiritual adversary ; that 
they are the most fatal product of the corrupt and proud rea- 
son of a fallen creature. 



COURSE OF GOVERNMENT IN THE AMISTAD CASE. 61 

Course of government in the Amistad Case. — J. Q. Adams. 

Now may it please your honors, we are to inquire what 
was it the duty of the Secretary of State to do, on receiving 
such a demand ? What did he do ? His first act was to mis- 
represent the demand, and write to the District Attorney of 
the United States for Connecticut, directing him to pursue a 
claim for these negroes to be delivered up as property, be- 
cause the Spanish minister had demanded them to be given 
up under the treaty. That is what he did, when it is appa- 
rent that the Spanish minister had made no such demand, and 
he ordered the District Attorney to take care that no decision 
of the District Court, or of any other, should place them be- 
yond the control of the Executive. That is what he did ; and 
the consequence is, the appearance of this case before the 
court. The Attorney of the United States pursued his orders. 
He stated in his libel, that the Spanish minister had demand- 
ed the restoration of the negroes as the property of Spanish 
subjects. And then, as if conscious that this process might 
not be sufficient to effect the other branch of his instructions, 
to wit, to prevent the negroes from being " placed beyond the 
control of the Executive," he added another claim, of his own 
accord, as far as appears, that if the Court should find them 
not to be slaves, they should be placed at the disposal of the 
President for a violation of the laws against the slave trade. 
That was the execution of his order to take care that no Court 
should place them beyond the control of the Executive. 

In a subsequent stage of the proceedings, the District At- 
torney filed another libel, in which he left out this alternative 
demand. Why was this r I can conceive of no reason, but 
that he had been so instructed by the Secretary of State. 
These instructions do not appear in the printed documents 
communicated by the President to Congress. But it does not 
follow that no such instructions were given. That document 
is not a full communication of all the papers on the case, as I 

6 



62 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

know of my own knowledge. The resolution calling for the 
papers contained the usual exception of papers that cannot 
be published consistently with the public interest, and under 
that exception, papers were kept back. The Executive did 
not choose to hold itself responsible for the alternative demand. 
This appears by the bringing of this appeal by the United 
States. What has the United States appealed from ? The 
District Attorney knew that the libel, founded on that claim 
of the Spanish minister, falsified as that claim was by the Sec- 
retary, was not sufficient to keep these Africans from being 
placed beyond the control of the Executive, and he therefore 
inserted the other count. 



A Scene in the Northern Ice. — Scoresby. 

One of the Hull whalers was moored to a piece of ice, on 
which, at a considerable distance, a large bear was observed 
prowling about for prey. One of the ship's company, em- 
boldened by an artificial courage, derived from the free use of 
rum, which in his economy he had stored for special occasions, 
undertook to pursue and attack the bear that was within view. 
Armed only with a whale-lance, he resolutely, and against 
all persuasion, set out on his adventurous exploit. A fatiguing 
journey of about a half a league, over a yielding surface of 
snow and rugged hammocks, brought him within a few yards 
of the enemy, which to his surprise, undauntedly faced him, 
and seemed to invite him to the combat. His courage being 
by this time greatly subdued, partly by evaporation of the 
stimulus^ and partly by the undismayed and even threatening 
aspect of the bear, he levelled his lance in an attitude either 
for offensive or defensive action, and stopped. The bear also 
stood still ; in vain the adventurer tried to rally courage to 
make the attack ; his enemy was too formidable, and his ap- 
pearance too imposing. In vain also he shouted, advanced 



A SCENE IN THE NORTHERN ICE. 63 

his lance, and made feints of attack ; the enemy, either not 
understanding or despising such unmanliness, obstinately 
stood his ground. Already the limbs of the sailor began to 
quiver ; but the fear of ridicule from his messmates had its in- 
fluence, and yet he scarcely dared to retreat. Bruin, however, 
possessing less reflection, or being regardless of consequences, 
began, with audacious boldness, to advance. His nigh ap- 
proach and unshaken step subdued the last spark of bravery 
and that dread of ridicule that had hitherto upheld our adven- 
turer ; he turned and fled. But now was the time of danger ; 
the sailor's flight encouraged the bear in turn to pursue, and 
being better practised in snow travelling, and better provided 
for it, he rapidly gained upon the fugitive. The whale-lance, 
his only defence, encumbering him in his retreat, he threw it 
down and kept on. This fortunately excited the bear's atten- 
tion ; he stopped, pawed it, bit it, and then renewed the chase. 
Again he was at the heels of the panting seaman, who, con- 
scious of the favourable effects of the lance, dropped one of 
his mittens, the stratagem succeeded, and while Bruin again 
stopped to examine it, the fugitive, improving the interval, 
made considerable progress ahead. Still the bear resumed the 
pursuit with a most provoking perseverance, except when ar- 
rested by another mitten, and finally by a hat, which he tore 
to shreds between his fore-teeth and paws, and would no 
doubt, soon have made the incautious adventurer his victim, 
who was now rapidly loosing strength, but for the prompt and 
well-timed assistance of his shipmates, who, observing that 
the affair had assumed a dangerous aspect, sallied out to his 
rescue. The little phalanx opened him a passage, and then 
closed to receive his bold assailant. Though now beyond 
reach of his adversary, the dismayed fugitive continued on- 
ward, impelled by his fears, and never relaxed his exertions, 
until he fairly reached the shelter of his ship. The bear once 
more came to a stand, and for a moment seemed to survey 
his enemies with all the consideration of an experienced gen- 



64 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

eral ; when finding himself mistaken he wheeled about and 
made his retreat. 



Lord Thurlow and Lord Eldon.— Brougham. 

If Lord Thurlow has left no monuments of his judicial el- 
oquence : and if, indeed, his place among lawyers was not the 
highest, he is admitted to have well understood the ordinary 
practice and leading principles of those courts in which he 
had passed his life ; and his judgments for the most part gave 
satisfaction to the profession. He had no mean powers of 
dispatching the business of the court, and of the House of 
Lords, when presiding upon appeals ; nor could any man in 
this article resemble him less than the most eminent of his 
successors, who was understood to have made him the model, 
in some things, of his conversation, garnishing it, after his 
manner, with explicatives rather sonorous than expressive, but 
more expressive than becoming. Far from showing, like 
Lord Eldon, a patience which no prolixity could exhaust, and 
a temper which was neither to be vexed by desperate argu- 
mentation, nor by endless repetition, — farther still from court- 
ing protracted and renewed discussion of each matter, already- 
worn thread-bare, — Lord Thurlow showed to the suiter a de- 
termined, and to the bar a surly aspect, which made it peril- 
ous to try experiments on the limits of his patience, by mak- 
ing it somewhat doubtful if he had any patience at all. Aware 
that the judge he was addressing knew enough of their com- 
mon profession not to be imposed upon, and bore so little de- 
ference to any other as to do exactly what suited himself, — 
nay, apprehensive that the measure of his courtesy was too 
scanty to obstruct the overflow in very audible sounds of the 
sarcastic and peremptory matter which eyes of the most fixed 
gloom, beneath eyebrows formed by nature to convey the ab- 
stract idea of a perfect frown, showed to be gathering or al* 



FRONTIER FORTIFICATIONS. 65 

ready collected — the advocate was compelled to be select in 
choosing his topics, and temperate in handling them ; and 
oftentimes felt reduced to a painful dilemma better fitted for 
the dispatch than the right decision of causes, the alter- 
native being presented of leaving material points unstated, or 
calling down against his client the unfavourable determination 
of the Court. He did not equal Sir John Leach, with whom 
every consideration made way for the vanity of clearing his 
cause-paper in a time which rendered it physically impossible 
for the causes to be heard. But he certainly more nearly ap- 
proached that extreme than he did the opposite, of endless 
delay and habitual vacillation of expression rather than of 
purpose, upon which Lord Eldon made shipwreck of his judi- 
cial reputation, though possessing all the greater qualities of a 
lawyer and a judge. 



Frontier Fortifications. — Munroe. 

Dangers from abroad are not less deserving of attention. 
Experiencing the fortune of other nations, the United States 
may be again involved in war, and it may, in that event, be the 
object of the adverse party to overset our government, to break 
our union, and demolish us as a nation. Our distance from 
Europe, and the just, moderate and pacific policy of our gov- 
ernment, may form some security against these dangers, but 
they ought to be anticipated, and guarded against. Many of 
our citizens are engaged in commerce and navigation, and all 
of them are in a certain degree dependent on their prosperous 
state. Many are engaged in fisheries. These interests are 
exposed to invasion in the wars between other powers, and 
we should disregard the faithful admonition of experience if 
we did not expect it. We must support our rights or lose our 
character, and with it, perhaps, our liberties. A people who 
fail to do it, can scarcely be said to hold a place among inde- 
6* 



66 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

pendent nations. National honor is national property of the 
highest value. The sentiment in the mind of every citizen is 
national strength. It ought therefore to be cherished. 

To secure us against these dangers, our coasts and inland 
frontiers should be fortified, our army and navy regulated 
upon just principles as to the force of each, be kept in perfect 
order, and our militia be placed on the best practicable footing. 
To put our extensive coast in such a state of defence, as to 
secure our cities and interior from invasion, will be attended 
with expense, but the work when finished, will be permanent, 
and it is fair to presume that a single campaign of invasion, by 
a naval force superior to our own, aided by a few thousand land- 
troops, would expose us to greater expense without taking 
into the estimate the loss of property, and distress of our citi- 
zens, than would be sufficient for this great work. Our land 
and naval forces should be moderate, but adequate to the ne- 
cessary purposes. The former to garrison and preserve our 
fortifications, and to meet the first invasions of a foreign foe, 
and while constituting the elements of a greater force, to pre- 
serve the science as well as all the necessary implements of 
war, in a state to be brought into activity in the event of war. 
The latter, retained within the limits proper in a state of peace, 
might aid in maintaining the neutrality of the United States 
with dignity in the wars of other powers, and in saving the 
property of their citizens from spoliation. In time of war, 
with the enlargement of which the great naval resources of 
the country render it susceptible, and which should be duly 
fostered in time of peace, it would contribute essentially, both 
as an auxiliary of defence, and as a powerful engine of an- 
noyance to diminish the calamities of war, and to bring the 
war to a speedy and honorable termination. 



APrEAL TO THE COURT IN THE AMISTAD CASE. 67 

Appeal to the Court in the Amistad Case. — J. Q. Adams. 

I said, when I began this plea, that my final reliance for 
success in this case, was on this court as a court of justice, and 
in the confidence this fact inspired, that in the administration 
of justice, in a case of no less importance than the liberty and 
the life of a large number of persons, this court would not de- 
cide but on a due consideration of ail the rights, both natural 
and social, of every one of these individuals. I have endeavor- 
ed to show that they are entitled to their liberty from this court. 
I have avoided, purposely avoided, and this court will do justice 
to the motive for which I have avoided, a recurrence to the 
first principles of liberty which might well have been invoked 
in the argument of this cause. I have shown that Bruiz and 
Montes, the only parties in interest here, for whose sole bene- 
fit this suit is carried on by the Government, were acting at 
the time, in a way that is forbidden by the laws of Great Brit- 
ain, of Spain, and of the United States, and that the mere sig- 
nature of the Governor General of Cuba ought not to prevail 
over the ample evidence in the case, that these negroes were 
free, and had a right to assert their liberty. I have shown 
that the papers in question are absolutely null, and insufficient 
as passports for persons, and still more invalid to convey or 
prove a title to property. 

May it please your honors : On the 7th of February, 1804, 
now more than 37 years ago, my name was recorded on the 
rolls of this Court, as one of its Attorneys and Counsellors, — 
that five years afterwards, I appeared before this Court in an 
important cause. Since that time, I have never appeared be- 
fore this Court until the present occasion, and now I stand be- 
fore this Court again. It is the same Court but not these 
same Judges. At that time these seats were filled by honored 
men indeed, but not the same. They are all changed. Then 
there was Chief Justice Marshall, and Judges Cushing and 
Chase, Washington and Johnson, and Livingston and Todd. 



68 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

Where are they ? Where is that able statesman and learned 
lawyer, who was my associate counsel in the cause, Robert 
Goodhue Harper ? Where is the eloquent counsellor, so long 
the pride of Maryland and the American Bar, who was the 
opposing counsel, Luther Martin ? Where is the excellent 
clerk of that day, whose name has been inscribed on the shores 
of Africa, as a monument of his abhorrence of the Afri- 
can slave-trade, Elias B. Caldwell ? Where is the marshal ? 
Where are the criers of the court ? Where is one of the very 
Judges before whom I commenced my argument in the pres- 
ent cause ? Gone — gone ; all gone. Gone from the services 
which they rendered to their country, to appear before a tri- 
bunal where they must answer for all the deeds done in the 
body. From the excellent characters which they sustained, 
so far as I have the means of knowing, I fondly hope that they 
have gone to receive the rewards of eternal blessedness. In 
taking, as I suppose, my final leave of this Bar and of this Hon- 
orable Court, I can only ejaculate a fervent petition to Heaven 
that every member of it may go to his final account with as lit- 
tle to answer for as these illustrious dead, and that you may 
every one receive the sentence — " well done good and faithful 
servants, enter into the joy of your Lord." 



Political Slander. — H. R. Storrs. 

I can never bring my mind or my feelings as an American, 
to suffer myself so to judge of our executives as to estimate 
the motives which may actuate them by the hard rules which 
the gentlemen from South Carolina assumes— let them have 
come to that high station by a constitutional election under 
any circumstances whatever. They are tests of such severity 
that no man can stand the trial. If the executive appoints his 
friends to office 'tis corruption ; if he appoints his enemies, 
'tis corruption still. If he appoints his friends, he pays : if 



POLITICAL SLANDER. 69 

his enemies, be buys ! Are ther>e, sir, the unsparing judg- 
ments which a generous people will pass upon their public 
men ? Are we to cherish, for a moment, doctrines which 
lead to such denunciations of all that we are taught by our 
national pride and the character of our institutions to respect? 
What should we say of the justice of other nations, should 
they apply to our free government these bitter reproaches ? 
Let the advocates of the divine rights of monarchy and kings 
themselves, when they behold this great fabric of civil liberty, 
say in the envy of their hearts, 

11 How much, O Sun ! I hate thy beams" — 

but let us never apply to our public men, those judgments 
which may lead the pettiest prince of Europe to look down 
upon the President of this free and enlightened people with 
contempt. The people of this country will not respond to the 
sentiments which we have heard. Believe me sir, they are 
too jealous of their own honor and the reputation of their gov- 
ernment, and too generous in their nature to cherish such in- 
justice to their own institutions and their own statesmen. If 
we invoke these judgments upon those who hold the most em- 
inent stations in the government, by w 7 hat rule shall we ask 
them to judge of us ? When Mr. Madison, called from his 
retirement in that state which you, Mr. Chairman, have the 
honor to represent, to the public service of the country, one of 
her most illustrious citizens and public benefactors, whose 
name and memory will be revered as long as distinguished 
talents and eminent public virtue shall be respected and 
honored anywhere, w 7 as Bayard — purchased ? If the living 
only were involved in these tests of public integrity, we could 
bear them with composure : but we must certainly wish that 
those judgments had been spared which may inscribe a sen- 
tence so revolting to our feelings on the sanctuary of the dead. 
When more recently, one of our most excellent and accom- 
plished men w T as called from these seats to the service of his 
country, was Poinsett — bought ? If it is honorable to die in 



70 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

the service of one's country, is it disreputable to live in the 
public confidence, or to serve in its public councils ? But I 
forbear to press these illustrations further. I do not deny that 
the power of appointment has been abused by some, and may 
be by all men. But it is not every exercise of what is some- 
what misnamed when we call it executive patronage, which is 
to be denounced as a defiling thing which contaminates all the 
healthful fountains of public virtue. 



Security of the Civil Compact of the United States. 
H. R. Stores. 

Sir, I will detain you no longer with my views of the incon- 
gruity of the principles on which these propositions rest — the 
inefficacy of the amendment to accomplish even its professed 
ends, and its impolitic and dangerous disturbance of the rights 
of the states. I ask of the committee, if the present period is 
auspicious to the renovation of this compact. When this con- 
stitution was framed, we had been recently chastened by ad- 
versity, and the states then deeply felt how great their mutual 
obligations were, and they had no interest but to be just. But 
circumstance and the times have changed, and we are now in 
the days of our prosperity. The relative population and 
power of the states are no longer the same ; prejudices, too 
firmly established, have crept in, and parties have arisen among 
us. Great sectional interests have sprung up in the states, and 
a whole nation has been brought into existence beyond the 
mountains. Public feeling has lately been deeply agitated, 
and the country is not quiet. I submit it to the dispassionate 
judgment of this committee, to say if it is now discreet to agi- 
tate this subject. I trust there are no well grounded apprehen- 
sions of any immediate danger to the country. 1 confess that 
there have been times when, in the conflicts of party and the 
convulsions of national feeling, I have too credulously thought 



DESTRUCTION OF SCIO. 71 

that the moral power of this government was too weak to sus- 
tain the union — but experience has shown us that these fears 
are groundless. Though the collisions of separate and sec- 
tional interest, may, at times, alarm the most confident, yet, 
if we examine our history and consider how well our institu- 
tions have maintained our interests abroad, advanced our 
common national glory and secured our civil liberties at home 
— and if we further look around us and view the sum of na- 
tional prosperity and individual happiness which is enjoyed 
throughout our country, there is abundant consolation for our 
fears, and we may confidently trust that under the blessing of 
Providence this empire of civil liberty will be perpetual. 



Destruction of Scio. — Webster. 

Scio, a sort of appanage of the Sultana mother, enjoyed 
many privileges peculiar to itself. In a population of one 
hundred and thirty thousand, or one hundred and forty thou- 
sand, it had no more than two thousand or three thousand 
Turks ; indeed, by some accounts not near as many. The ab- 
sence of these ruffian masters, had, in some degree, allowed op- 
portunity for the promotion of knowledge, the accumulation of 
wealth, and the general cultivation of society. Here was the 
seat of the modern Greek literature ; here were libraries, 
printing presses, and other establishments, which indicate 
some advancement in refinement and knowledge. Certain of 
the inhabitants of Samos, it would seem, envious of this com- 
parative happiness of Scio, landed upon the island, in an ir- 
regular multitude, for the purpose of compelling its inhabi- 
tants to make common cause with their oppressors. These, 
being joined by the peasantry, marched to the city, and drove 
the Turks into the castle. The Turkish fleet, lately reinforced 
from Egypt, happened to be in the neighboring seas, and 
learning these events, landed a force on the island, of fifteen 



72 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

thousand men. There was nothing to resist such an army. 
These troops immediately entered the city, and began an in- 
discriminate massacre. The city was fired ; and, in four 
days, the fire and the sword of the Turk, rendered the beau- 
tiful Scio a clotted mass of blood and ashes. The details are 
too shocking to be recited. Forty thousand women and 
children, unhappily saved from the general destruction, were 
afterwards sold in the market of Smyrna, and sent off into 
distant and hopeless servitude. Even on the wharves of our 
own cities, it has been said, have been sold the utensils of 
those hearths which now exist no longer. Of the whole popu- 
lation which I have mentioned, not above nine hundred per- 
sons were left living upon the island. I will only repeat, sir, 
that these tragical scenes were as fully known at the Congress 
of Verona, as they are now known to us ; and it is not too 
much to call on the powers that constituted that Congress, in 
the name of conscience, and in the name of humanity, to tell 
us, if there be nothing even in these unparalleled excesses of 
Turkish barbarity, to excite a sentiment of compassion, noth- 
ing which they regard as so objectionable as even the very 
idea of popular resistance to power. 



Extract from a Speech of E. Livingston. 

My opinions, sir, on this subject, are explicit, and I wish 
they may be known ; they are, that whenever our laws man- 
ifestly infringe the constitution under which they were made, 
the people ought not to hesitate which they should obey : if 
we exceed our powers, we become tyrants, and our acts have 
no effect. Thus, sir, one of the first effects of measures such 
as this if they be acquiesed in, will be disaffection among the 
states, and opposition among the people to your government's 
tumults, violations and a recurrence to first revolutionary 
principles ; if they are submitted to, the consequences will be 



SPIRIT-SELLING, A CURSE TO THE SELLER. 73 

worse. After such manifest violation of the principle of our 
constitution, the form will not long be sacred : presently every 
vestige of it will be lost and swallowed up in the gulf of des- 
potism. But should the evil proceed no farther than the exe- 
cution of the present law, what a fearful picture will our coun- 
try present ? The system of espionage thus established, the 
country will swarm with information spies, and all that odious 
tribe, that breed in the sunshine of despotic power, that suck 
the blood of the unfortunate, and creep into the bosom of 
sleeping innocence only to awaken it with a burning wound. 
The hours of the most unsuspecting confidence : the intima- 
cies of friendship, or the recesses of domestic retirement, af- 
ford no security ; the companion whom you most trust, the 
friend in whom you most confide, the domestic who waits in 
your chamber, are all tempted to betray your imprudence or 
guardless follies, to misrepresent your words, to convey them, 
distorted by calumny, to the secret tribunal where jealousy 
presides, where fear officiates as accuser, where suspicion is 
the only evidence that is heard. Let the constitution then be 
sacred. 



Spirit-selling, a curse to the Seller. — Dr. Cogswell. 

Taverners and grocers should not sell ardent spirits : se- 
riously remembering that the money acquired by the sale of 
spirituous liquors is the price of fortune, health, happiness, 
reputation, body, and soul, and will be dissipated, like the 
morning cloud and early dew, before the solar beams. John 
Wesley declared, u That the men who traffic in ardent spirits, 
and sell to all who will buy, are poisoners general ; that they 
murder his majesty's subjects by the wholesale ; neither does 
their eye pity or spare. And what," said he, " is their gain ? 
Is it not the blood of these men ? Who would not envy their 
large estates and sumptuous palaces ? A curse of God is on 

7 



74 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

their gardens, their walks, their groves ; a fire that burns to 
the nethermost hell. Blood, blood is there; the foundation, 
the floor, the walks, the roof are stained with blood. And 
canst thou hope, O man of blood, though thou art clothed in 
scarlet and fine linen, and farest sumptuously every day, canst 
thou hope to deliver down the fields of blood to the third gen- 
eration ? Not so — there is a God in the heavens, therefore 
thy name shall be rooted out like as those whom thou hast 
destroyed, both body and soul. Thy memorial shall perish 
with thee." The Rev. Austin Dickinson, of New York, in an 
address to those who distil and sell ardent spirits, says, " You 
are creating and sending out the materials of disorder, crime, 
poverty, disease, and intellectual and moral degradation. You 
are contributing to perpetuate one of the sorest scourges of 
our world. And the scourge can never be removed till those 
deadly fires which you have kindled are put out." The Rev. 
Dr. Beecher, has remarked, " The dealers in this liquid poison 
of ardent spirit may be compared to men who should adver- 
tise for sale, consumptions, and fevers, and rheumatisms, and 
palsies, and apoplexies. But would our public authorities 
permit such a traffic ? No. The public voice would be heard 
at once, for the punishment of such enemies of our race ; 
and the rulers that would not take speedy vengeance, would 
be execrated and removed. But now the men who deal out 
this slow poison are licensed by law, and they talk about their 
constitutional rights, and plead that they are pursuing lawful 
callings. Where lies the difference in criminality between 
the dram-seller who administers the slow, but certain death, 
and the public murderer? The former is licensed in his 
wickedness by law, the other must be hanged." Judge Dag- 
gett, of Connecticut, says, " On every grog-shop should be in- 
scribed, in capital letters, ; The way to hell, going down to 
the chambers of death,'" It is a very encouraging fact that 
" many of our tavern keepers have banished spirits from their 
bars, and some of them have adopted a substitute. It is hoped 



RESTORATION OF THE JEWS. 75 

that they all will adopt it, as almost every traveller in his pay- 
ment for some trifling, yet innocent refreshment, at least avoids 
the embarrassment of directly compensating the inn-keeper 
for the use of his house." 



Restoration of the Jews. — Dr. Cogswell. 

There is great encouragement to enlist in the bevevolent 
enterprise of raising up the tribes of Jacob, and of restoring 
the preserved of Israel. At the present time there is an in- 
creased attention to the ancient covenant people of God, in all 
nations of Christendom. The formal apathy for those of the 
circumcision, ceases from the Christian's bosom. The Jews 
themselves are beginning to examine the authenticity of the 
New Testament. There are great movements among them, 
especially in Poland. More than two hundred of them on the 
continent of Europe, have actually embraced the Christian 
religion. Already a wave sheaf is presented before the Lord, 
as the first fruits of a spiritual harvest. A better and brighter 
day to Israel has already dawned. Verily the branches that 
have been broken off from the good olive trees, shall be graf- 
ted again. Like Philip they shall exclaim, we have found 
him, of whom Moses in the law and the prophets did write, 
Jesus of Nazareth : and like Saul of Tarsus, they shall preach 
the faith which once they destroyed. They shall visit the land 
of their father's sepulchres, and when their restoration shall 
be accomplished, they will pre-eminently aid in the conversion 
of the Gentiles. " For if the casting away of them be the 
reconciling of the world, what shall the receiving of them be 
but life from the dead." Salvation will again be of the Jews ; 
for out of Zicn shall go forth the law, and the word of the 
Lord from Jerusalem. Let not unbelief say, there is a lion 
in the way. Is anything too hard for the Lord ? What 
cannot Omnipotence achieve ? Be not faithless but believing. 



76 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

Beloved for their father's sakes, the Jews shall receive the 
benedictions of Heaven. Unequivocal indications exist that 
the time, even the set time to favor Zion, is come ; that the 
great crime at Calvary has been punished by all nations ; and 
that God will smile propitiously upon the descendants of Abra- 
ham in these latter days. These things excite to action, and 
inspire the hope of success, as exertion shall be made to 
convince the dispersed of Israel that Shilo has come, the de- 
sire of all nations, to turn away ungodliness from Jacob. 



Full Preparation for the Ministry. — Dr. Skinner. 

The days of miraculous illumination being past, those who 
deem themselves called of God to the work of the ministry, 
should conclude that they are also called of God to the most 
sedulous cultivation and discipline of their mental powers, — 
the only way to learning and the just use of learning, when 
miracles are no more. However strong and ardent may be 
their desire to engage at once in the business of saving men, 
and whatever temptations, labors, expenses, difficulties, may 
be incidental to a complete course of preparatory discipline, 
they should not enter the sacred office until they shall have 
finished such a course ; and all their life time, they should 
continue the processes of mental culture and improvement, 
separating themselves from all secular pursuits, abjuring 
every form of self-indulgence, observing fixed and severe 
rules of study, seeking and intermeddling with all wisdom, 
and going from day to day, and year to year, the same unva- 
ried round of intellectual application. The highest wisdom in 
conducting this business, as well as every other, in which our 
faculties can be employed, is, without question, subjecting 
them absolutely to the command of a holy Will — making 
every intellectual exertion, an instance of a strictly spiritual 
and religious manner of life. He who in a course of study 



THE PREACHER'S QUALIFICATIONS. 77 

maintains the closest walk with God, takes the best way to 
make study available to its immediate purposes. He is more 
likely to excel in mental improvement, in strength and vigor 
of understanding, in ability to think, investigate and instruct, 
in learning and all intellectual treasures and resources, than 
if he should allow the desire of intellectual preeminence or 
the love of learning, to domineer within him, altogether un- 
regulated, unrestrained, unmeddled with, by any religious 
principle or feeling. Will it be'questioned, that nothing is so 
well suited to draw out all the powers of the mind into their 
most perfect operation, as to bring it into intercourse with 
Him who is the source and centre of all minds ? His presence 
alone, felt and enjoyed, will more quicken, illuminate and en- 
large the mind of man, than all other influences beside. 



The Preachers Qualifications.— Dr. Skinner. 

It is matter of Church History, that of ministers, one has, 
not seldom, been worth a hundred or a thousand. — Besides, 
it is censure, not of our views on this subject, but of the ar- 
rangement of God, to allege that he has required work to be 
done when a sufficient number of workmen competent to the 
task, cannot be procured. Before an objection of this kind is 
raised, trial should be made. Flas the Church enlisted her 
utmost strength, and while prudently and patiently employ- 
ing it for the attainment of the end, raised the cry night and 
day to the Lord of the harvest, that he would send forth la- 
borers into the harvest ? 

It may be that the just impression is not taken as to the 
nature of the requisite talents for preaching. It should be 
inferred from what I have said, that a preacher should be a 
sound-minded man, and should know how to use his faculties 
in the inculcation and defence of the Gospel ; and is this an 
untenable principle ? A higher standard than this we have 



78 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

not raised, a higher is not needed ; and this is not so high, 
but that the Church should refuse to acknowledge any man 
as a regular preacher who falls much below it. Preachers 
of this description confiding in the grace of God, and anointed 
by his Spirit, may go fearlessly to their work. Let them 
take heed that what they undertake to defend, is the simple 
Gospel, and give themselves wholly to their work, and they 
will find the business of preaching to prosper in their hands. 

The first and grand concern of preaching is to be sure 
that what they undertake to discourse about, is genuine Gos- 
pel ; and in order to get this assurance, not gigantic strength 
of intellect, so much as a delicate simplicity of spirit, like the 
simple life of a new-born babe, is the best prerequisite. Now 
this is a quality which no Christian should want, and in which 
preachers surely should excel. 



Efforts for Seamen. — Ch. Philanthropist. 

Efforts should be made to convert seamen, from the con- 
sideration that in an important sense, they are to be the car- 
riers of the Gospel to the islands of the seas and to the ends 
of the earth. 

This fact is agreeable to prediction. Says the prophet 
Isaiah, u Surely the Isles shall wait for me, and the ships of 
Tarshish first, to bring thy sons from far, their silver and their 
gold with them unto the name of the Lord thy God, and to 
the Holy One of Israel because he hath glorified thee." Dr. 
Scott in his Commentary thus remarks on this passage, 
" This prediction will be accomplished when Christians shall 
unanimously agree to make commerce and navigation sub- 
servient to the preaching of the Gospel in every country with 
which they trade. Then swift messengers of salvation will 
be sent in vessels on every sea. Mariners will convey Mis- 
sionaries to every heathen land and clime. The merchan- 



EFFORTS FOR SEAMEN. 79 

dise of our Tyres shall be holiness to the Lord. " It shall 
not be treasured nor laid up ; for their merchandise shall be 
for them that dwell before the Lord, to eat sufficiently, and 
for durable clothing," u The daughter of Tyre shall be there 
with a gift, even the rich among the people shall entreat thy 
favor," contributions will be made by all commercial men 
for the benefit of the church. " Even the richest among the 
nations in due time will submit to the Messiah, consecrate 
their wealth to him, and court the friendship, and desire the 
prayers of the church." Seamen are to have a very impor- 
tant part in preaching the Gospel to every creature under 
heaven. Their conversion " is intimately connected with the 
prosperity of missions abroad, and the salvation of the hea- 
then. No missionaries could be sent to the 'Islands of the 
sea,' or to the - far distant coasts,' without seamen, nor could 
any supplies be sent to them, neither any returns be received 
from them without the same aid. Indeed, communication of 
every kind would be entirely and forever cut off between us 
and them, were there none to travel the pathless ocean. It 
would, also, be some alleviation to the sufferings of the mis- 
sionaries, and soften many of the pangs which they feel on 
leaving their friends, their homes, and their firesides, to go to 
an unknown country and among a people of an unknown 
tongue, to preach the salvation of Christ, could they find in 
every sailor a Christian brother, instead of a blaspheming, 
thoughtless sinner, as is now too often the case. And how 
greatly would their burdens be lightened on their airival 
among the heathen, could they find in every seamen a helper 
in the work of the Lord, instead of an enemy, to waste and 
destroy ! It is certainly and obviously true, that sailors, if 
generally pious, would be among the most active and power- 
ful auxiliaries to foreign missions. But, generally vicious, 
and abandoned, as they now are, they throw innumerable and 
constant hindrances in the way of their progress, and do more 
to prejudice the minds of the heathen against the Christian 



80 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

religion, than all other men combined." Say the missiona- 
ries in addressing Christians, " If you wish the Gospel exten- 
sively to prevail among the heathen, convert your seamen, 
for they now pull down, as fast as your missionaries can 
build up." Great efforts then should be unceasingly made 
for the conversion and sanctification of this class of people. 



Co-workers with God. — Ch. Philanthropist. 

Those who labor for the extension of the church, labor for 
the good of man, and are co-workers with God. 

Men may receive happiness in this life, from carnal enjoy- 
ments. But the greatest, purest and best good to man, is of 
a spiritual nature, and is derived from the possession of re- 
ligion. Here is refined bliss, the sublimest enjoyment. The 
first and last of all good centres here. Men are happy in 
proportion as they are good, and miserable in proportion as 
they are bad. To promote piety then, to build up the Re- 
deemer's kingdom, which is holy and happy, is to labor for 
the good of men, is to save them from the reproaches of con- 
science here, and the torments of the finally impenitent 
hereafter, and to prepare them for the ineffable felicities of 
heaven. Besides, the pious and good are a blessing to the 
world. Had not Noah been righteous, the whole human 
race would have been destroyed. None would have survived 
the deluge to have peopled the earth. Had there been ten in 
Sodom, like pious Lot, they would have saved the city. 
Abraham by his faith has drawn down innumerable blessings 
upon his posterity the Jews, and upon those that are afar off, 
even as many as the Lord our God shall call. What bless- 
ings to the world have been Moses and Paul, Luther and 
Baxter, Watts and Edwards ! Generations yet unborn, shall 
arise and call them blessed ; for by their holy lives and writings 
they have instrumentally enlarged the church, and increased 



TRUTH OF THE BIBLE PROVED BY ITS MORALITY. 81 

piety, and consequently, happiness in the earth. All such the 
apostle calls workers together with God ; as they are em- 
ployed as his instruments. When the Lord was about to 
gather in the Jews, he sent them the prophets. When he was 
about to display his grace in the salvation of the Gentiles, he 
sent forth the heralds of the Gospel. To penetrate the heart 
of India, and prepare the way for dethroning her idol gods, 
he raised up a Buchanan. To prepare the way for the 
emancipation of Africa, he raised up a Clarkson, a Mills, a 
Wilberforce. And the time will come, when Asia shall no 
longer bow down to her idols, and Africa shall burst her 
chains of thraldom, and the world shall be converted to Christ. 
But in order to this, the whole church of God must be elec- 
trified with holy zeal, and every Christian must act in unison 
with the King of heaven. And how exalted the employment 
to be workers together with God ! 



Truth of the Bible proved by its Morality. — Prof. Edwards. 

The argument drawn from the moral character of the wri- 
ters and the doctrines of the Bible, appears to increase in its 
relative importance, as the sensibilities of men become more re- 
fined. There are multitudes, whose attention must be arous- 
ed by the exhibition of wonders, and whose heart must be as- 
saulted violently, or it will not be benefited at all. But there 
are others, who are more effectually subdued by the still small 
voice. The argument from miracles, meeting as it does, a 
demand of the human soul, is by no means to be undervalued, 
and yet this is not the kind of proof, to which the majority of 
cordial believers in the Bible are, at the present day, most at- 
tached. They have neither the time nor the ability to form 
an estimate of the historical evidence, that favors or opposes 
the actual occurrence of miracles. They know the Bible to 
be true, because they feel it to be so. The excellence of its 



82 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

morality, like a magnet, attracts their souls ; and sophistry, 
which they cannot refute, will not weaken their faith, resulting 
as it does, from the accordance of their higher nature with the 
spirit of the Bible. The internal argument in favor of Chris- 
tianity is also recommended by its moral influence. The full 
exhibition of it is a melting appeal to the heart ; and as the 
heart becomes the more susceptible, the argument becomes 
the more convincing. With the unlettered Christian, then, the 
moral evidence for the Bible is the more effectual, because 
the more simple ; with the educated Christian it is so, be 
cause the more dignified. It may be questioned, indeed, 
whether the argument from miracles is not logically depen- 
dent, for its complete force, on its connection with the argu- 
ment from the moral nature of Christianity. Was not the 
former argument designed to operate in conjunction with the 
latter ; and does it not, when severed from that union, fail to 
afford full conviction ? We have read of wonders performed 
ostensibly for a bad object, and also of wonders performed in 
mere frivolity. Can any evidence whatever, in favor of these 
anomalies, fully convince the mind of their real occurrence, 
as miracles ? Can we be fully satisfied that miracles have 
occurred, while we view them as mere naked phenomena, ab- 
stracted from their connection with a divine government, from 
any and every moral object to be attained by them ? As the 
proof of the inspiration of the Bible is, in the logical order, 
subsequent to the proof of the existence of God, we certainly 
have a right to decline a controversy on the former subject^ 
until our opponent has conceded the fundamental truths rela- 
ting to the latter. When he has conceded these, we may con* 
nect with them the external argument for inspiration. 



EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF BAYARD. 83 

Extract from a Speech of Bayard. 

Let us consider the present state of the circuit courts. There 
are six courts which sit in twenty-two districts ; each court 
visits at least three districts, some four. The courts are now 
composed of three Judges, of equal power and dignity. Stand- 
ing on equal ground, their opinions will be independent and 
firm. Their number is the best for consultation, and they 
are exempt from the inconvenience of an equal divison of 
opinion. But what I value most, and what was designed to 
remedy the great defect of the former system, is the identity 
which the court maintains. Each district has now always 
the same court. Each district will hereafter have a system 
of practice and uniformity of decision. The Judges of each 
circuit will now study, and learn, and retain the laws and prac- 
tice of their respective districts. It never was intended, nor 
is it practicable, that the same rule of property or of proceed- 
ing should prevail from New Hampshire to Georgia. The old 
courts were enjoined to obey the laws of the respective states. 
Those laws fluctuate with the will of the state legislatures, and 
no other uniformity could ever be expected, but in the con- 
struction of the constitution and statutes of the United States. 
This uniformity is still preserved by the control of the supreme 
court over the courts of the circuit. Under the present es- 
tablishment, a rational system of jurisprudence will arise. The 
practice and local laws of the different districts may vary, but 
in the same district they will be uniform. The practice of 
each district will suggest improvements to the others, the pro- 
gressive adoption of which, will, in time assimilate the sys- 
tems of the several districts. 

I do not pretend to say that the present system is perfect ; 
I only contend that it is better than the old. If, Sir, instead 
of destroying, gentlemen will undertake to improve the pres- 
ent plan, I will not only applaud their motives, but will assist 
in their labor. We ask only that our system may be tried. 



84 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

How, Sir, am I to account for the extreme anxiety to get 
rid of this establishment ? Does it proceed from that spirit, 
which, since power has been given to it, has so unrelentingly- 
persecuted men in office who belonged to a certain sect ? I 
hope there will be a little patience ; these Judges are old and 
infirm men ; they will die ; they must die ; wait but a short 
time, their places will be vacant ; they will be filled with dis- 
ciples of the new school, and gentlemen will not have to an- 
swer for the political murder which is now meditated. 



Extract from a Speech of Morris. 

Peace, indeed, can never be safe, but by the aid of power. 
Our disposition is pacific. It is our interest to be at peace, 
and the form of our government, while it secures to us, the 
enjoyment of as much liberty as possible, renders it particu- 
larly imprudent to risk, in war, any change of the constitution. 
Grant us these provinces, and we can dictate the condition of 
our commerce with the islands. Possessed of them it will be 
doubly lucrative, and without them, wholly uncertain. But 
great as are the benefits which will result from the possession 
of the Floridas and New Orleans, great as is their tendency to 
advance our power, secure our peace, and extend our com- 
merce, there is a consideration, in comparison with which, 
commerce, peace, and power, are of but slight avail. These 
provinces will fortify the defences of our freedom. My hon- 
orable colleague has stated to you his apprehensions of stand- 
ing armies. And yet, Sir, if we be not possessed of this ter- 
ritory, standing armies will become necessary. Without an 
imposing military force, the inhabitants of the western coun- 
try will be in such immediate danger, that they must league 
with a neighbor who will have everything to fear. This will 
lead to the worst of all wars, to civil war. And when that 
shall happen, liberty will soon be lost. The army which has 



AN IRRELIGIOUS LIFE LEADS TO INFIDELITY. 85 

defeated one half the nation, will early lend itself to enslave 
the other. Such is the history, and such will ever be the 
fate of man. In this view, then, above all others, is that pos- 
session most precious. When it is in our hands we need no 
standing army. We can turn our whole attention to naval 
defence, which gives complete security, both at home and 
abroad. When we have twenty ships of the line at sea, (and 
there is no good reason why we should not have them.) we 
shall be respected by all Europe. 

The sense of security, resulting from such force, must 
give a new spring to industry, and increase the stock of nation- 
al wealth. The expense, compared with the benefit, is mode- 
rate, nay, trifling. And let me here say one word as to na- 
tional expense. Sir, whatever sums are necessary to secure 
the national independence, must be paid. They will not 
amount to one half of what it must cost us to be subdued. If 
we will not pay to be defended, we must pay for being con- 
quered. There is no medium, and but the single alternative. 
In the proper expenditure for defence, therefore, is true econ- 
omy; and every pitiful saving, inconsistent with that object, 
is the worst, the most profligate profusion. 



An irreligious life leads to Infidelity. — Wilson. 

Are there, then, any now in this sacred .temple, in danger 
of being shaken in their faith ? Are there any who are almost 
bewildered at times with the sophistry of the wicked ? Are 
there those who are cast by circumstances into the society, 
and exposed to the arts of the unbelieving ? Are there any 
whose peculiar character of mind leads them to doubt and 
hesitate upon every great subject, and therefore on the subject 
of the Christian argument, and who in the moments of temp- 
tation are harassed by suspicions and fears ? Let me entreat 
them to follow the main principle of this argument, and calmly 
8 



86 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

ask themselves, what is the temper of mind in which unbe* 
lievers treat the most momentous subject that can be brought 
before a dying and accountable creature ? Let them not 
plunge irito disputations ; let them just ask the previous ques- 
tion, Are unbelievers entering the kingdom of heaven as little 
children ? Do they even pretend to do it ? Do they not ob- 
ject to the demand ? And if this be so, is it possible for them 
to have attained to truth ? 

I may go further, and urge those before me who are in 
danger of being seduced by the scoffer, to consider what is 
their own temper of mind when they are most disposed to lis- 
ten to such suggestions. It is, young man, when you are liv- 
ing without prayer, without teachableness of heart, without 
purity of conduct, without practical concern for religion, that 
these objections have the greatest weight with you ? Where- 
as when you were modest and unassuming and devout and 
virtuous, (that is, when you were in a right temper of mind,) 
you disregarded the flimsy sophistry of the ungodly. Stop, 
then, in your career. You have been listening to other teach- 
ers than reason and true wisdom ; you are in danger of be- 
ing drawn still further aside from the paths of salvation. Stop, 
ere you have hardened your neck and there be no remedy. 
Stop, ere God give you up to your own devices. Let me re- 
mind you that at the last day you must give an account of 
*the temper of heart in which you have inquired into Chris- 
tianity, as well as of every other part of your conduct. There 
are sins of the mind, as well as of the appetites and passions. 
Flatter not yourselves by saying that conviction is not in your 
own power, that if arguments fail to persuade, you are free from 
any further obligation that you are not accountable for your 
belief. For the question then will be, not whether you were 
convinced of the truth of Christianity, but whether you might 
have been convinced, had you cultivated from the first a right 
state of mind. 



CHRISTIANITY AND NATURAL RELIGION. 87 

Christianity and Natural Religion. — Wilson. 

Christianity is nothing more than natural religion, amplified, 
purged, elevated, rendered practicable by a stupendous act of 
mercy, the gift of the only begotten Son of God to die for sin, 
and of the renovating spirit of grace. 

Mark the effects which the gospel produced on the hearts 
and prospects of its first converts. What a change, what de- 
liverance, what a light in darkness, what a joy amidst the mis- 
eries of a pagan world ; what an impress of God upon the 
soul of the convert ! It is a new heart communicated ; a new 
life ; a new turn and bias to all the powers of the rational na- 
ture ; a birth from above. 

Close now the Sacred Book, and look around you in the 
world ; recall the annals of the past ages ; retrace the history 
of mankind. You behold everything with new eyes ; you see 
God knows the state of man ; you see that misery, the blind- 
ness, perverseness, corruption, folly, vices of mankind ; their 
uncertainty on all the fundamental points of religion ; their 
dread of God as an enemy ; their apprehensions of futurity, all 
meet and agree with the provisions of the gospel ; whilst the 
provisions of the gospel meet and agree with these wants. 
The phenomena of the world around you exactly corres- 
pond with the statements of the Bible. 

Now then put these things together ; and afterwards re- 
flect on the mass of evidence of every kind, with which the 
christian religion was introduced to your notice. 

I ask, if already some new sensations do not spring up in 
your bosom ? I ask, if some fresh hopes do not visit you of 
attaining truth ? I ask, if a new view of things does not dawn 
upon your mind, now that you begin in earnest to study what 
religion is, and what it proposes to do for man. 

Is it possible, that with such a suitableness to the state and 
wants of man; with such a. sublime system of doctrine; with 
such a pure morality ; with so divine a Founder ; with such a 



OO INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

holy tendency, — the religion should be false? No! it can- 
not be. The very thought is absurd — impossible ! It can- 
not be, that all the attestations of truth should be a mere signet 
upon a forged Revelation ! No— all is true. I leave, for the 
present, difficulties which may, perhaps, be cleared up here- 
after ; but the Bible speaks to my heart. It is its own best 
defence ; it carries its own evidence with it ; it is divine. 



Ancient Grecian Slavery. — Biblical Repository. 

In estimating the happiness of the heroic ages, we must take 
into the account its extreme instability arising in part from the 
institution of slavery. Hence, there is a melancholy tinge 
widely diffused over the poems of Homer. He frequently ad- 
verts in general terms to the miseries of mankind. That earth 
nourished no animal more wretched than man, is a remark 
which he puts into the mouth of Jove himself. His common 
epitaph for war is " tearful." 

He seems to have had some knowledge by tradition or 
otherwise of a period when slavery did not exist ; an idea to 
which Herodotus alludes, and Plutarch also in his life of Nu- 
ma. Though there were many slaves in the days of Homer, 
yet their number was afterwards greatly increased. 

There has not been any attempt, within our knowledge, to 
investigate thoroughly the condition of Grecian slavery, the 
ancient historian, for the mosf part, concerned himself only 
with the freeborn citizen. He had in general no sympathies 
to expend in behalf of the great prostrate multitude who toiled 
and died unseen. We have allusions, incidental notices, par- 
agraphs, scattered here and there in the long records from 
Hesiod down to the historians of Byzantium. The thoughtful 
tragedian sometimes drops a tear for the poor slave, and the 
comic poet raises a laugh at his expense, but no Xenophon 
was found to lift the curtain and detail the features of that sys- 



' DUPLICITY OF JACOB. 89 

tern, which deprived at least two thirds of the population of 
Greece of all political importance, and in a great measure of 
happiness itself. Greece in its early days was in a state of 
perpetual piratical warfare. Cattle was the great object of 
plunder. Then, as the inhabitants by degrees engaged in 
agricultural pursuits, men, women and children, were sought 
for slaves. A sea which has innumerable islands, offered 
powerful incentives to piracy. Perhaps the conduct of the 
Phenicians towards the uncivilized nations among whom the 
desire of gain led them, was not always the most upright or 
humane. 

Hostilities would naturally ensue ; and hence might first 
arise the estimation of piracy which was a fruitful source of 
slavery, and long prevailed among the Greeks as an honorable 
practice. From the general account of the polity of the island 
of Crete furnished by Plato and Aristotle, we find that Mi- 
nos established his system upon two principles ; that freemen 
should be all equal, and that they should be served by slaves. 
The soil was cultivated by the slaves on the public account ; 
the freemen ate together at the public tables, and their fami- 
lies were subsisted from the public stock. While a compar- 
atively small society lived in freedom and honorable leisure, a 
much larger portion of the human race was, for their sakes, 
doomed to rigid and irredeemable slavery. And thus it was 
throughout Greece to a very wide extent. 



Duplicity of Jacob. — Bush. 

We cannot but pause in astonishment, at beholding a per- 
son of Eebekah's exemplary character devising such a plot, 
and a plain man like Jacob executing it in accordance to her 
wishes, a plot to deceive a holy and aged man, a husband, a 
parent, in the very hour of his expected decease, and in a 
transaction of the most sacred importance. We cannot, in- 

8* 



90 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

deed, suppose this to have been their ordinary mode of act- 
ing ; and this renders it not a little surprising that they should 
all at once show themselves such proficients in the art of dis- 
simulation and fraud ; but, although the measure was utterly 
unjustifiable and base, yet, as we cannot at this distance of 
time, put ourselves into the precise position of the parties, nor 
possess ourselves of the exact state of mind by which it was 
prompted, this fact should somewhat soften our condemnation. 
On the other hand, it is clear that God designed that Jacob 
should have the blessing, and that Rebekah was aware of this 
design. There is every reason to believe also, that she highly 
prized the blessing, and was influenced by a principle of sin- 
cere faith in seeking to obtain it; so far she is to be com- 
mended. But the scheme which she formed to compass the 
end was exceedingly culpable. She had no right to suppose 
that treachery and falsehood were under any circumstances 
admissible in bringing about the divine purposes. It is as 
high presumption for men to think that their cunning is need- 
ful to accomplish God's purposes, or that by their cunning 
they can defeat them. Rebekah's was, therefore a crooked 
policy, wholly at variance with the simplicity of a child of 
God ; and not only so, it was an expedient that was not barely 
sinful but unnecessary, as she had been assured by a divine 
oracle that the elder should serve the younger, as the birth- 
right was transferable and Jacob had actually purchased it, 
the proper course would have been for her and Jacob to have 
set the matter plainly before Isaac ; and by argument, expos- 
tulation, and entreaties urged him thus to comply with what 
was evidently the will of heaven. Isaac was a pious man, and 
would scarcely have dared to set himself knowingly against 
the counsels of God. This should have been their first effort, 
and had it failed, still they should have borne it in mind that 
God was able to overrule his actions, and to constrain him as 
he afterward did Jacob himself, to cross his hands, and, even 
against his will, to transfer the blessing to him for whom it 



THE POLAR STAR. 91 

was designed. They should have committed the result im- 
plicitly to him. He might be safely left with the execution 
of his own purposes. The sin of deceiving a man into what 
is right differs little from the sin of deceiving him into what is 
wrong. The effect of the sin may indeed be different, but its 
moral character in the eyes of Omniscience, is substantially 
the same. On the whole, after every abatement, we cannot 
but severely condemn the conduct of Eebekah and Jacob. 
The slightest deviation from the straight forward principles of 
integrity and honesty, is contrary to the very genius and act- 
ings of a true faith : and though the event was overruled to 
good, yet this was no justification of the parties concerned. 
Evil ceases not to be evil because God makes it redound to 
his glory. 



The Polar Star. — Sturm. 

Among the northern constellations, that which is situated 
nearest to the north pole, and is termed the little bear, is na- 
turally the first to attract our notice. The last star of the tail 
is but two degrees from the pole, and is thence denominated 
the polar star. It may be easily distinguished from all the 
neighboring stars, because it seems scarcely to change its 
position, and is almost always observed in the same point of 
the heavens. Notwithstanding it appears to be fixed, this 
star revolves round the pole, but its motion is so slow, and the 
circle which it describes so small, that its change of place is 
scarcely perceptible. This apparent fixedness of situation 
renders the polar star an infallible guide, especially to mari- 
ners. In all ages, especially before the discovery of the com- 
pass, navigators had not a surer conductor than the polar star ; 
and even now, since the invention of that instrument, so in- 
valuable to seamen, this star sometimes proves, when the sky 
is serene, a guide on which they may rely more securely than 



92 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

on the magnetic needle, and which conducts them with uner- 
ring certainty to the most distant coasts. 

The advantages which we derive from the polar star natu- 
rally lead to the consideration of the benefits conferred on us 
by the revealed word of God, especially of the Gospel. How 
inestimable a gift for a man tossed about on the tempestu- 
ous ocean of the world, and surrounded with the obscurity 
of night. 

Without this guide I lose my way, and am unable to find 
the track that leads to God and everlasting felicity. Without 
the Word of God for my conductor, I wander to and fro, some- 
times racked with fears, sometimes cheered by hope, but al- 
ways in uncertainty. In the divine revelation alone I find a 
certain and invariable rule, by which I can pursue the race 
that is set before me, and accomplish it with joy. Henceforth 
will I, therefore, follow this never erring guide as attentively 
as the pilot consults the polar star, and will keep it constantly 
in view, that I may never go astray. By its assistance I shall 
at length arrive in safety in the desjred port where I shall en- 
joy everlasting repose. 



Thoughts on Thompson's Life, — Anon. 

The biography of a man whose life was passed in his study, 
and who is known to the world by his writings alone, can 
present few facts to render it popular, unless it was chequer- 
ed by events that excite interest, or marked by traits which 
lessen esteem. If a poet has been vicious, the account of the 
misfortunes which vice never fails to bring, and of its effects 
on himself is read with attention ; but the career of him who 
was uniformly virtuous, who experienced no remarkable vicis- 
situdes of fortune, and who was only eminent for the genius 
which his writings display, must yield in variety of incident to 
that of a pirate or courtesan. There is nevertheless much 



THE ARCH ENEMY. 93 

that will gratify a reader whose taste is not so vitiated as to 
require the excitement of romance, in tracing the progress of 
a distinguished literary person ; and he who is not desirous 
of knowing the history of a writer whose name is associated 
with his earliest recollections, must be void of every spark of 
curiosity. A favorite author possesses claims upon our re- 
gard similar to those of friendship ; and the tale which would 
be dull and tiresome if it concerned any other person, is read, 
or listened to, with the liveliest pleasure. Thompson's life 
must be indebted for whatever gratification it may afford to 
the sympathy of his admirers, since it is destitute of all other 
attraction. Little has been preserved concerning him, per- 
haps because very little was deserving of being recorded ; 
and even these notices are extremely scattered. He did less 
for his own history than almost any other poet of the time, as 
his works contain few egotisms, and his great dislike to cor- 
respondence prevented the existence of those familiar letters 
which form the most delightful materials for biography. 



The Arch Enemy. — Cunningham. 

One of the first truths in which the Book of Job instructs us ? 
is id the unwearied malignity of the great enemy of our souls , 
the devil. There is much incredulity as to the existence of 
such an enemy, even amongst those who profess a perfect be- 
lief in the Scripture, and, doubtless the subtle and invisible 
nature of all spiritual agency is calculated to confirm the 
skepticism of those who are unwilling to be convinced. But, 
in this history, the veil is withdrawn from the spiritual world • 
the recesses of hell are laid open ; the movements of the arch 
enemy described ; and we are permitted, as it were, to see 
him arming for the conflict, and marching the assault on the 
fallen children of Adam. Observe the ignorance and per- 
severance of his hostility. No anguish of the sufferer softens 



94 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

him ; no disappointment discourages him. He brings up new 
forces to the contest, and wages war, even in the face, and 
against the word of Omnipotence. And should not such facts 
as these, my brethren, be a solemn warning lo ourselves ? It 
is true that as we look around us in the fields of nature, little 
but scenes of calmness, and loveliness, and undisturbed seren- 
ity present themselves. But nevertheless, the " prince of the 
power of the air," is abroad and active ; and were things in- 
invisible, at once to assume a palpable form, how many scenes 
of terror would burst upon the eye ! The Prophet, when the 
multitude saw nothing, beheld " horses of fire and chariots of 
fire ;" and however invisible this spiritual hostility to others, 
the Christian sees enough to fill him with caution, and to 
prompt him to " watch" and to " pray." The enemy who 
assailed Job, my christian brethren, still " walks up and down, 
seeking whom he may devour." Can those have any real 
confidence in this statement, who yet never prepare for the 
encounter of this formidable enemy ; who freely and need- 
lessly frequent the scenes where he may be supposed more 
especially present ; who incorporate themselves with the in- 
dividuals most abandoned to his influence ; who throw away 
the only legitimate weapons of spiritual warfare — watchful- 
ness, and intimate communion with God ? Should we not live, 
my brethren, in some measure as if in an enemy's country ? 

Should we not expect temptation in every event and cir- 
cumstance of life ? Should we not strive through God, to 
" resist the devil that he may flee from us ?" Should we not 
solemnly and earnestly supplicate for ourselves and others, 
that when the " enemy breaketh in like a flood, the Spirit of 
the Lord may lift up a standard against him ?" 



LUTHER. 95 

Luther.— Alexander Bower. 
At whatever age we contemplate Luther, we find the traits 
of no common disposition. While yet a boy, we have seen 
him devoting himself with ardour to study, and outstripping his 
youthful competitors in classic attainments. Advancing to- 
wards manhood, he loses, indeed, a valuable portion of time 
in acquiring a familiarity with the barbarous jargon of the 
schools ; but his progress in this unprofitable department is 
such as to afford a satisfactory indication of his success in a 
better cause. When arrived at the time of life for making 
choice of a profession, he exhibits striking marks of a decided 
character. Young as he w T as, he had determined to devote 
himself to the service of God, and no entreaty of friends, no 
temptation of emolument, could shake his resolution. Having 
taken the conclusive step, and become an inhabitant of a mon- 
astery, he avoids the idle and uninstructive habits of his breth- 
ren, and without the aid of any advising friend, devotes him- 
self to theological research. In this he resolutely perseveres, 
notwithstanding the ridicule of those around him, whose know- 
ledge of their duty was confined to the repetition by rote, of a 
few prayers, and who had allowed a copy of the Bible to lie 
for years, neglected in a corner. By one of those remarka- 
ble dispensations of Providence, which rendered Luther the in- 
strument of so much public good, he was early placed in a 
situation to distribute to others the fruits of his study. Though 
called to officiate as a teacher of philosophy, and for some 
time, perhaps, inadequately qualified to fill the theological 
chair, the bent of inclinations remained as before, and he em- 
braced the first favorable opportunity of making his duty con- 
sist in that which had long been his delight. By this change, 
he was placed in the situation best fitted to enable him to in- 
struct others, and to prosecute his researches into the true na- 
ture of Christianity. We find him accordingly holding for 
several years an assiduous but tranquil course. The time 



96 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

which thus elapsed was sufficient to shake in him the founda- 
tion of the false impressions of youth, without being of a length 
to carry him beyond the years of enterprising exertion. Un- 
der these circumstances, it is so ordered that the abuses of pa- 
pal corruption shall be brought under the eye of himself and 
his countrymen in their most offensive shape. Luther is re- 
volted at the sight, and ventures to commence an opposition 
which, under a different sovereign, or in any other country 
in Europe, could hardly have failed to have been unsuccess- 
ful and disastrous. This opposition bears no mark of selfish 
motives, — it implies, on the contrary, a relinquishment and 
forfeiture of professional advancement. In all Luther's pro- 
ceedings, various as they are, or in his preachings, his trea- 
tises, and disputations, we discern no step taken for the gratifi- 
cations of personal advantage. 



Laws of Nature.— Arnott. 

There is nothing in nature so truly miraculous and ador* 
able, as that the endless and beneficent variety of results which 
we see, should spring from such simple elements. In times 
of ignorance, men naturally regarded every occurrence which 
they did not understand, that is to say, which they could not 
refer to a general law, as arising from a direct interference 
of a supreme power ; and thus for many ages, and among 
some nations still, eclipses, and earthquakes, and many dis- 
eases, and particularly those of the mind, and the winds and 
weather, were, or are accounted miraculous. Hence, arose 
among heathens many ceremonies, and sometimes even bar- 
barous sacrifices, for propitiating or appeasing their offended 
deities, but founded on expectations no more reasonable, than 
if we should now pray to have the day or the year made 
shorter, or to have a coming eclipse averted. They had not 
yet risen to the sublime conception of one God, who said, 



LAWS OF NATURE. 97 

" Let there be light," and the light was ; and who gave to the 
whole of nature permanent laws, which he allows men to dis- 
cover for the direction of their conduct in life — laws so un- 
changing that we can calculate eclipses backwards or forwards 
for thousands of years, without erring by one beat of the pen- 
dulum ; and as our knowledge of nature advances, can antici- 
pate and explain other events with equal precision. Even the 
wind and the rain, which in common speech, are the types of 
uncertainty and change, obey laws as fixed as those of the 
sun and moon ; and already, as regards many parts of the 
earth, man can foretel them without fear of being belied. He 
plans his voyage to suit the coming monsoons, and he pre- 
pares against the floods of the rainy seasons. 

He who understands the laws of nature, even in the degree 
in which men now know them, has such clear prescience of 
the future, and of the effects which will arise from certain 
causes, that, in many instances, he can interpose and control 
events to answer his private ends. 

To a certain extent, he thus commands nature, and as ex- 
pressed in the language of Solomon, repeated since by Lord 
Bacon, " his knowledge is power." Moreover, as all single 
material objects and states of objects in the universe, are re- 
sults of antecedent operation of the laws of change, a man 
who first studies the laws, knows beforehand, in great part, 
the objects which, in examining nature, he will meet with and 
thus most remarkably diminishes the labour of studying natu- 
ral history. He seems to learn by intuition. A well inform- 
ed man of the present day, may be said to possess, within the 
boundaries of his mind, the universe in miniature, where he 
can contemplate at leisure, past events, and the present and 
the future. But let him not be misled by the pride of reason, 
which naturally arises from such considerations. All his 
calculations are yet founded on an assumption that the course 
of nature, as understood by him, has not changed, and will 
not change. Now, although thousands of years give coun- 
9^ 



98 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

tenance to the assumption, these thousands are less to a past 
and a coming eternity, than the noon-day hour, which is an 
animalcule's life, to rolling ages — an animalcule which can- 
not know the morning, nor the evening, nor spring, nor win- 
ter. Man, it is true, can foretel the change of day, and of 
season, and coming of remote eclipses ; but the mountains of 
the earth are daily crumbling before his eyes by the action of 
winds, and rains, and other unremitting causes ; and the depths 
of the ocean, are, in a corresponding degree, filling up ; and 
stars which his forefathers beheld bright in the firmament, are 
now dim, or have disappeared ; — awful changes, of which his 
knowledge, founded on short human experience, can tell him 
neither the beginnings nor the end ! 



Influence of Vice over Reason. — Shaftsbury. 

One tyranny supports another : one slavery helps and min- 
isters to another. Vice ministers to superstition ; and a gain- 
ful ministress she is : superstition on the other hand returns 
the kindness, and will not be ungrateful. Superstition sup- 
ports persecution, and persecution, superstition. Vice and in- 
temperance are but an inward persecution. It is here the vio- 
lence begins. Here the truth is first held in unrighteousness, 
and the yvovov^ " reason knowable, the intelligible, the divine 
part," is persecuted and imprisoned. Those who submit to 
this tyranny, in time not only come to it, but plead for it, and 
think the law of virtue tyrannical and against nature. 

So in the absolute governments of the world ; nations, that 
submit to arbitrary rule, love even their form of government ; 
if one may call that a form which is without any, and, like 
vice itself, know neither law nor order. In this state, the 
mind helps forward the ill work. For when reason, as an 
antagonist to vice, is become an inward enemy, and has once 
lost her interest with the soul, by opposing every favorite pas- 



RIENSI. 99 

sion, she will then be soon expelled to another province, and 
lie under suspicion for every attempt she makes upon the 
mind. She is presently miscalled and abused. She is thought 
notional in the understanding, whimsical in company, seditious 
in the state, heretical in the church. Even in philosophy, her 
own proper dominion, she is looked upon as none of the best 
of companions ; and here also authority is respected as the 
most convenient guide. This we find to be the temper of 
certain places ; where wit and sense, however, are not want- 
ing, nor learning of a certain kind. So that what is at the 
bottom of all this, is easily seen by those who see those places, 
and can but make use of their eyes to observe manners and 
morals. It is pretty visible indeed that the original of all is 
in those sordid vices of sloth, laziness and intemperance. 
This makes way for ambition ; for how should these be so il- 
lustriously maintained and vindicated, without large temporal 
power, and the umbrage of authority ? Hence it is that those 
mother vices are so indulgently treated in those places, and 
that temperance and virtue are looked upon with an evil eye, 
as fanatically inclined. For who that is morally free, and has 
asserted his inward liberty, can see truth thus held, reason 
and ingenuity suppressed, without some secret abhorrence and 
detestation ? 



Riensi. — Gibbon. 

In the camp, Riensi appeared to less advantage than in the 
rostrum ; and he neglected the progress of the rebel barons 
till their numbers were strong, and their castles impregnable. 
From the pages of Livy he had not imbibed the art, or even 
the courage of a general : an army of twenty thousand Ro- 
mans returned without honor or effect from the attack of Ma- 
rino : and his vengeance was amused by painting his enemies, 
their heads downwards, and drowning two dogs (at least they 



- 00 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

should have been bears) as the representatives of the Ursini. 
The belief of his incapacity encouraged their operations ; they 
were invited by their secret adherents ; and the barons at- 
tempted, with four thousand foot and sixteen hundred horse to 
enter Rome by force or surprise. The city was prepared for 
their reception : the alarm bell rung all night, the gates were 
strictly guarded, or insolently open ; and after some hesita- 
tion they sounded a retreat. The two first divisions had 
sounded along the walls, but the prospect of a free entrance* 
tempted the headstrong valour of the nobles in the rear ; and 
after a successful skirmish they were overthrown and massa- 
cred without quarter by the crowds of the Roman people. 
Stephen Colonna, the younger, the noble spirit to whom Pe- 
trarch ascribed the restoration of Italy, was preceded or ac- 
companied in death by his son John, a gallant youth, by his 
brother Peter, who might regret the ease and honors of the 
church, by a nephew of honourable birth, and by two relatives 
of the Colonna race, and the number of seven, the seven crowns, 
as Riensi styled them, of the Holy Ghost, was completed by 
the agony of the deplorable parent, and the veteran chief, who 
had survived the hope and fortune of his house. The visions 
and prophecies of St. Martin and pope Boniface had been used 
by the tribune to animate his troops ; he displayed at least in 
the pursuit, the spirit of a hero, but he forgot the maxims of 
the ancient Romans, who abhorred the triumphs of civil war. 
The conqueror ascended the Capitol ; deposited his crown 
and sceptre on the altar ; and boasted with some truth, that he 
had cut off an ear which neither pope nor emperor had been 
able to amputate. His base and implacable revenge denied 
the honors of burial ; and the bodies of the Colonna, which he 
threatened to expose with those of the vilest malefactors, were 
secretly interred by the holy virgins of their name and family. 
The people sympathized in their grief, repented of their own 
fury, and detested the indecent joy of Riensi, who visited the 
spot where these illustrious victims had fallen. 



STONE-CUTTING THE BUSINESS FOR CONVICTS. 101 

Stone- cutting the business for Convicts. — Rev. L. Dwight. 
The best mode of employing prisoners next claims our con- 
sideration. And on this subject the first thing that demands 
our attention, is the variety of curious trades, which are intro- 
duced into some of our Penitentiaries ; particularly in the met- 
als ; such as whitesmiths, locksmiths, gunsmiths, brass found- 
ers, coppersmiths, etc. etc., which are all admirably adapted 
to furnish instruments of mischief and skill, in the arts of 
counterfeiting money and picking locks. For instance, in a 
Penitentiary in a neighboring State, a convict of many year's 
experience in the arts of villany, who had been associated 
with gangs of counterfeiters, and was possessed at the time of 
his arrest, of great quantities and varieties of curious tools, 
and plates and bills, was located, in the prison to which he 
was condemned, at the head of the whitesmith's shop. This 
shop was well furnished, at the expense of the State, with all 
the instruments which such an artist would desire to use, and 
had a window in it opening into the street, through which he 
could deliver any altered or counterfeit money, and receive 
materials to alter it. Take another instance. A copper- 
plate printer was arrested for being possessed of copper-plates 
for making counterfeit bills, and for being largely engaged in 
the trade. — He was sentenced to the State prison, and there, 
as a matter of particular favor, he was permitted to have a 
room fitted up by himself, where he could place his copper- 
plate press and carry on his former occupation of copper- 
plate printer. Take another illustration. The locks for Lev- 
erett-street jail, Boston, were made in the State prison, at 
Charlestown. The reason for this was, that locks of more 
curious construction could be obtained there, than elsewhere. 
Of course, the first principles of this curious art were better 
understood ; and if better understood, taught ; and if taught, 
tested. The principles, if thus tested in prison, might after- 
wards be reduced to practice, wherever the pupils in so good 
9* 



102 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

a school should have their lot cast ; not so much however to 
furnish locks, which no keys could open, as to furnish keys 
which no locks could resist. We only allude to this subject, 
in this place ; as our only object here is, to illustrate an obvi- 
ous principle, viz., that all curious arts in the metals are out 
of place in a penitentiary. — They greatly facilitate the means 
of rendering penitentiaries, what they have often been called 
of late years, schools of vice. Against other trades, which 
are pursued in these institutions no such objection is found ; 
coopers, weavers, shoemakers, tailors, hatters, and stone-cut- 
ters, cannot so easily pervert the design of their imployment. 
The instruments which they use are few and simple and not 
easily converted into implements of mischief. These trades, 
therefore are much more safe in a penitentiary, than the curi- 
ous arts of whitesmiths, locksmiths, and copper-plate printers. 
If the correctness of these remarks be admitted, the ques- 
tion may still arise, Which of the most simple and common 
arts is, on the whole to be preferred ? And in answer to thi3 
question, there is no hazard in saying, that where the mate- 
rial is easily obtained, and the market good, the stone-cutting 
is the best. In regard to this business, it is worthy of remark, 
that the raw material is cheap ; it is not easily injured ; the 
the art of cutting is soon learned ; it is laborious and healthy ; 
it requires little superintendence; the tools are few and sim- 
ple ; the demand for the work is great ; the business, on the 
whole, more profitable to the institution ; and the knowledge 
of the art very useful to the convicts after they leave the 
prison. This is the principal employment in the New Hamp- 
shire and Massachusetts prisons, which are the least expen- 
sive, or rather, which yield the greatest profit to the state. 



THE FOUR AGES OF CIVILIZATION. 103 

The four ages of Civilization. — Voltaire. 
Every age has produced heroes and politicians; all nations 
have experienced revolutions ; and all histories are nearly 
alike, to those who seek only to furnish their memories with 
facts ; but whosoever thinks, or what is still more rare, who- 
soever has taste, will find but four ages in the history of the 
world. These four happy ages are those in which the arts 
are carried to perfection : and which, by serving as the era 
of the greatness of the human mind, are examples for pos- 
terity. The first of these ages to which true glory is annexed, 
is that of Philip and Alexander, or that of a Pericles, a De- 
mosthenes, an Aristotle, a Plato, an Apelles, a Phidias and a 
Praxiteles ; and this honor has been confined within the lim- 
its of ancient Greece ; the rest of the known world was then 
in a state of barbarism. The second age is that of Csesar 
and Augustus, distinguished likewise by the names of Lucre- 
tius, Cicero, Titus, Livius, Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Varro, and 
Vitruvius. The third is that which followed the taking of 
Constantinople by Mahomet II. Then a family of private cit- 
izens were seen to do that which the kings of Europe 
ought to have undertaken. The Medicis invited to Florence 
the learned, who had been driven out of Greece by the 
Turks. — This was the age of Italy's glory. The polite arts 
had already recovered a new life in that country ; the Ital- 
ians honored them' with the title of Virtue, as the first Greeks 
had distinguished them by the name of Wisdom. Everything 
tended towards perfection ; a Michael Angelo, a Raphael, a 
Titian, a Tasso, and Ariosto flourished. The art of engrav- 
ing was invented ; the elegant architecture appeared again, as 
admirable as in the most triumphant ages of Rome ; and the 
Gothic barbarism which had disfigured Europe in every kind 
of production, was driven from Italy to make way for good 
taste. The arts, always transplanted from Greece to Italy, 
found themselves in a favorable soil, where they instantly 



104 INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

produced fruit. France, England, Germany, and Spain, aim- 
ed in their turns to gather these fruits ; but either they could 
not live in those climates, or else they degenerated very fast. 
Lastly, the fourth age is that known by the name of the age 
of Lewis XIV. and is perhaps that which approaches the near- 
est to perfection of all the four ; enriched by the discoveries 
of the three former ones, it has done greater things in certain 
kinds than those three together. In this age we first became 
acquainted with sound philosophy. It may be truly said, that 
from the last years of Cardinal Richelieu's administration till 
those which followed the death of Lewis XIV. there has ap- 
peared such a general revolution in our arts, our genius, our 
manners, and even in our government, as will serve as an im- 
mortal mark to the true glory of our country. 



Importance of National Mementoes. — Mass. Hist. Coll. 

Among the singular advantages which are enjoyed by the 
people of these United States, none is more conspicuous than 
the facility of tracing the origin and progress of our several 
plantations. Derived from nations in which the means of lit- 
erary improvement were familiar, we are able to ascertain 
with precision many circumstances, the knowledge of which 
must have been either disfigured or lost among a people rude 
and unlettered. 

With such advantages in our hands, we are wholly inex- 
cusable if we neglect to preserve authentic monuments of 
every memorable occurrence. Not only names, dates, and 
facts may be thus handed down to posterity ; but principles 
and reasonings, causes and consequences, with the manner of 
their operation, and their various connexions, may enter into 
the mass of historical information. 

Our ancestors were early attentive to this important subject. 
Among them were men of the first abilities and improve- 



IMPORTANCE OF NATIONAL MOMENTOES. 105 

ments, who though struggling with all the hardships of an in- 
fant settlement, were mindful of their posterity, and careful 
to provide for us both entertainment and instruction. 

From instances which have occurred during our own mem- 
ory, it is evident that Repositories of every kind, however de- 
sirable, are exposed to such accidents, from the hand of time ; 
from the power of the elements, and from the ravages of un- 
principled men, as to render them unsafe. There is no sure 
way of preserving historical records and materials, but by 
multiplying the copies. The art of printing affords a mode 
of preservation more effectual than Corinthian brass, or Egyp- 
tian marble ; for statues and pyramids which have long sur- 
vived the wreck of time, are unable to tell the names of their 
sculptors, or the date of their foundations. 



PART II. 
MODULATION. 



These exercises are designed principally to assist in modulating 
the voice, according to principles found in Rhetorical Reader, p. 47. 
A greater variety of gesture is required than in the pieces of Part I. — 
As in Part I., the Notation which is applied to the first few pieces, 
will assist the speaker in applying a notation to those which follow. 
Many of the selections in Part 1. are capable of exciting interest only 
by their peculiar subjects, or style, as they were mostly selected with 
the object of aiding the speaker, in his earliest efforts, to be free from 
embarrassment while standing before his audience. 

In Part 11. all the pieces call for a higher degree of emotion, though 
not in as great variety, as in Part III. As Modulation is to be partic- 
ularly regarded, I here caution the speaker against making any arti- 
ficial variety of tone. With conversation for his standard, he should 
aim to become master of his voice, as to pitch, etc., and then uniform- 
ly follow his own taste, carefully studying each sentence, with this 
view. 

A part of Dr. Porter's key of modulation is here inserted for con- 
venience of reference. 

(°) high. (°°) high and loud. ( •• ) slow, (||) pause, 

( ) low. ( 0O ) low and loud. (=) quick. ( — ) plaintive. 

The influence of the different marks of modulation is sometimes 
extended through several sentences, but is generally confined to the 
sentence before which a mark is placed. 

The Sun. — Sturm. 

God has assigned to the sun the situation which is best 
adapted to that luminary, and to the purposes which he de- 
signed it to accomplish. He gave this flaming orb precise 
dimensions, and suspended it in a space proportioned to the 
motion it was appointed to perform ; but he placed it at such 
a distance from the planets on which it was to act, as was 
suited to these proportions. This position the sun has main- 
tained many thousand years, without the least variation, which 



PHILO's VERSION OF JUDAH's SPEECH. 107 

would be attended with destructive consequences to the em- 
pire of nature. Assuredly, nothing short of infinite power 
could have performed such a miracle. God alone could have 
created this prodigious globe, he alone could place it in a suit- 
able situation, could have defined its limits, subjected it to in- 
variable laws, and preserved it so immoveably in the position 
and order which he at first prescribed. ( ) And what wisdom, 
what beneficence does not this arrangement display, both with 
respect to the universe in general, and to our earth and its in- 
habitants in particular ! If our earth were placed in a situa- 
tion where these rays acted upon it in greater number, or more 
closely concentrated, we should not be able to endure the 
heat. Had it been thrown to the extreme verge of the solar 
system, we should have received but a feeble light, and not 
warmth sufficient to ripen its productions. The sun, there- 
fore, is placed in the very point where he ought to be. 

He can now communicate to our globe sufficient light and 
heat to cheer mankind, and to penetrate and vivify the whole 
earth with his genial rays. He is now the instrument that 
rarefies the atmosphere, that produces exhalations, and other 
effects dependent on this phenomena, without which, we 
should not receive the benefits of dew and rain, of snow or hail, 
of fogs or serene weather. He can now cause the regular 
alternation of day and night, as well as the vicissitudes of the 
seasons, and diversify in each of them his actions and influ- 
ences. 



Philo^s Version of JudaWs Speech before Joseph 
(See Genesis 44th ch.) 

When we appeared, Sir, before you the first time, we an- 
swered without reserve, and according to the strictest truth, 
all the questions which you were pleased to put to us concern- 
ing our family. We acquainted you, that we had a father, 



108 MODULATION. 

heavily laden with years, but still more heavily with misfor- 
tunes ; a father, whose whole life has been one continued strug- 
gle with adversity. We added that we had a brother pecu- 
liarly dear to him, as the children born towards the end of their 
life, generally are to old men, and who is the only one re- 
maining of his mother, his brother having come in early youth 
to a most tragical end. You commanded us as the proof of our 
veracity and innocence, to bring that brother unto you, and 
your command was delivered with such threatenings that the 
terror of them accompanied us all the way back to our coun- 
try, and embittered the remainder of our journey. We re- 
ported everything minutely to our father, as you directed us. 
Resolutely and long, he refused to intrust us with the care of 
that child. Love suggested a thousand causes of apprehen- 
sion on his account. He loaded us with the bitterest reproach- 
es for having declared that we had another brother. Subdu- 
ed by the famine, he at length reluctantly consented ; and 
putting this beloved son, this unhappy youth, into our hands, 
conjured us by every dear, every awful name, to guard, with 
tenderness, his precious life ; and as we would not see him ex- 
pire before our eyes in anguish and despair, to bring him back 
in safety. He parted with him as with a limb torn from his 
own body ; and in an agony of grief, inexpressibly deplored 
the dreadful necessity which separated him from a son, on 
whom all the happiness of his life depended. ( — ) How then 
can we appear before a father of such delicate sensibility ? 
With what eyes shall we dare to look upon him unless we 
carry back with us the son of his right hand, this staff of his 
old age, whom alas you have condemned to slavery. ( ) The 
good old man will expire in horrors, dreadful to nature, as soon 
as he shall find that his son is not with us. Our enemies will 
insult over us under these misfortunes, and treat us as the 
most infamous parricides. I must appear to the world and to 
myself as the perpetrator of that most horrid of crimes, the 
murder of a father ; for it was I that most urgently pressed 



RESISTANCE OF PAPAL ERROR. 109 

my father to yield. I engaged by the most solemn promises, 
and the most sacred pledges, to bring the child back. Me he 
entrusted with the sacred deposit, and at my hand he will re- 
quire it. Have pity, I beseech you, on the deplorable condi- 
tion of an old man, stripped of his last comfort, and whose 
misery will be aggravated by reflecting that he foresaw its 
approach, and yet wanted resolution to prevent it. If your 
just indignation must needs have a sacrifice, here 1 a?n, ready, 
at the price of my liberty, or my life, to expiate this young 
man's guilt and to purchase his release. ( — ) Grant this re- 
quest, not so much for the sake of the youth himself, as of 
his absent father who never offended you, but who venerates 
your person, and esteems your virtues. Suffer us not to plead 
in vain for a shelter under your right hand to which we flee, 
as to an holy altar consecrated as a refuge to the miserable. 
Pity an old man who during the whole course of a long life, 
has cultivated arts becoming a man of wisdom and probity, 
and who, on account of his amiable qualities, is almost adored 
by the inhabitants of Syria, and Canaan, though he professes 
a religion, and follows a mode of living totally different from 
theirs. 



Resistance to Papal Error. — Dr. Mathesoe. 

Nothing can be stronger evidence against the success of 
Romanism, than its actual position associated with the extran- 
eous aid afforded to it. With hundreds of thousands of dol- 
lars to back it, it has fallen short in the race with the other 
denominations ; while they have wanted the unity of action 
which sustained it, and were thrown entirely on their native 
inward resources. Popery cannot flourish in the United 
States, except everything proper to this land should first die 
out, — liberty, conscience, independence, and prejudice. It is 
not indigenous, (|j) it is an exotic, (||) and though fostered by 

10 



110 MODULATION. 

fond hands, and protected by strong ones, it will languish, (||) 
fade, (||) and fall. ( ) It is a monstrous expectation that it 
will succeed ; despondency only could have suggested it. But 
the Pope must hope for no second life in this new world. It 
may be true, that he is immutable ; happily he is not immor- 
tal. Yet the occasion calls for diligence, and a diligence 
directed with sagacity as to means and distant results, equal 
to that of the adversary ; if all were to sleep, while the enemy 
sowed his tares, there might indeed be a most rueful harvest. 
But here again the Romanists have made a bad choice. These 
people are the most wakeful of any known. They will cer- 
tainly, when they see the evil do their duty ; the only fear is 
lest they should give the adversary some advantage, by over- 
doing it. Let them feel that they have to deal with a cautious 
foe, and treat him cautiously ; they must not be content with 
a manful onset, such as these they have lately made, and ex- 
pect to demolish at a blow. Let them remember that they 
have to do with a foe, who rests his cause on time and perse- 
verance ; whose hand seeks to undermine rather than to 
storm ; who can smile at a defeat if he puts his deponent off 
his guard ; and who, like the tiger-cat, can spring on his 
prey, when he seems to be moving away. It is manifest that 
success is to be expected against such a foe, not by an occa- 
sional triumph, but by a careful observation of his devices, 
and a calm indomitable steadiness in resisting them. 



Infidelity's boast.— Robert Hall. 

We might ask the patrons of infidelity, (°) what fury im- 
pels them to attempt the subversion of Christianity ? Is it 
that they have discovered a better system ? To what virtues 
are their principles favorable ? Or is there one which 
Christians have not carried to a higher than any of which 
their party can boast ? Have they discovered a more excel- 



infidelity's boast. Ill 

lent rule of life, or a better hope in death than that which the 
Scriptures suggest ? Above all, what are the pretensions on 
which they rest their claims to be the guides of mankind ; or 
which emboldened them to expect we should trample on the 
experience of ages, and abandon a religion which has been 
attested by a train of miracles and prophecies, in which mil- 
lions of our forefathers have found a refuge in every trouble, 
and consolation in the hour of death ; a religion which has 
been adorned with the highest sanctity of character and splen- 
dor of talents ; which enrols amongst its disciples the names 
of Bacon, Newton, and Locke, the glory of their species, and 
to which these illustrious men were proud to dedicate the 
last and best fruits of their immortal genius. 

( ) If the question at issue is to be decided by argument, 
nothing can be added to the triumph of Christianity ; if by an 
appeal to authority, what have our adversaries to oppose to 
these great names ? Where are the infidels of such pure un- 
contaminated morals, unshaken probity, and extended benev- 
olence, that we should be in no danger of being seduced into 
impiety by their example ? (°) Into what obscure recesses of 
misery, into what dungeons have their philanthropists pene- 
trated, to lighten the fetters and relieve the sorrows of the 
helpless captive ? What barbarous tribes have their apostles 
visited ? What distant climes have they explored, encom- 
passed with cold, nakedness, and want, to diffuse principles 
of virtue, and the blessings of civilization ? Or will they 
rather choose to waive their pretensions to this extraordinary, 
and in their eyes eccentric species of benevolence, (for infi- 
dels we know, are sworn enemies to enthusiasm of every sort) 
and rest their character on their political exploits ; on their 
efforts to reanimate the virtues of a sinking state, to restrain 
licentiousness, to calm the tumult of popular fury ; and by in- 
culcating the spirit of justice, moderation, and pity for fallen 
greatness, to mitigate the inevitable horrors of revolution ? Our 
adversaries will at least, have the discretion if not the modesty 
to recede from this test. 



112 MODULATION. 

More than all, their infatuated eagerness, their parricidal 
zeal to extinguish a sense of Deity, must excite astonishment 
and horror. Is the idea of an almighty and perfect Ruler un- 
friendly to any passion which is consistent with innocence, or 
an obstruction to any design which it is not shameful to avow ? 

( 00 ) Eternal God, on what are thine enemies intent ! 
What are those enterprises of guilt and horror, that, for the 
safety of their performers, require to be enveloped in a dark- 
ness which the eye of Heaven must not pierce. ( 00 ) Misera- 
ble men ! Proud of being the offspring of chance : In love 
with universal disorder; whose happiness is involved in the 
belief of their being no witness to their designs, and who are 
at ease only because they suppose themselves inhabitants of a 
forsaken and fatherless world ! 



Common and Scientific Language. — Dr. Marsh. 

(This extract illustrates the influence of earnest argument upon the 
tone of voice.) 

It is a strong presumptive proof against materialism, that 
there does not exist a language on earth, from the rudest to 
the most refined, in which a materialist can talk for five min- 
utes together, without involving some contradiction in terms to 
his own system. Will not this apply equally to the astrono- 
mer ? Newton, no doubt, talked of the sun's rising and set- 
ting, just like other men. What should we think of the cox- 
comb, who should have objected to him, that he contradicted 
his own system ? (°) No ! it does not apply equally ; Say 
rather, it is utterly inapplicable to the astronomer and natural 
philosopher. For his philosophy, and his ordinary language 
speaks of two quite different things, both of which are equally 
true. In his ordinary language he refers to a. fact of appear- 
ance, to a phenomenon common and necessary to all persons 
in a given situation : in his scientific language he determines 



COMRION AND SCIENTIFIC LANGUAGE. 113 

that one position, figure, etc. which being supposed, the ap- 
pearance in question would be the necessary result, and all 
appearances in all situations may be demonstrably foretold. 
Let a body be suspended in the air, and strongly illuminated. 
What figure is here ? A triangle. But what here ? A tra- 
pezium, — and so on. The same question put to twenty men, 
in twenty different positions and distances, would receive 
twenty different answers: and each would be a true answer. 
But what is that one figure, which being so placed, all these 
facts of appearance must result, according to the law of per- 
spective ? ( c ) Aye ! this is a different question, — this is a 
new subject. The words which answer this, would be absurd, 
if used in reply to the former. Thus, the language of the 
scriptures on natural objects is as strictly philosophical as that 
of the Newtonian svstem. Perhaos, more so. For it is not 
only equally true, but it is universal among mankind, and un- 
changable. It describes facts of appearance. And what other 
language would have been consistent with the divine wisdom? 
The inspired writers must have borrowed their terminology, 
either from the crude and mistaken philosophy of their own 
times, and so have sanctified and perpetuated falsehood, unin- 
telligible meantime to all but one in ten thousand ; or they 
must have anticipated the terminology of the true system, 
without any revelation of the system itself, and thus have left 
nothing for the exercise, development, or reward of the hu- 
man understanding, instead of teaching that moral knowledge, 
and enforcing those social and civil virtues, out of which the 
arts and sciences will spring up in due time, and of their own 
accord. But nothing of this applies to the materialist ; he re- 
fers to the very same facts, which the common language of 
mankind sneaks of; and these two are facts, that have their 
sole and entire being in our own consciousness ; facts, as to 
which esse, and conscire are identical. Now, whatever is 
common to all languages, in all climates, at all times, and in 
all stages of civilization, must be the Exponent and Consequent 
10* 



1 14 MODULATION. 

of the common consciousness of man, as man. Whatever 
contradicts this universal language, therefore, contradicts the 
universal consciousness ; and the facts in question subsisting 
exclusively in consciousness, whatever contradicts the con- 
sciousness, contradicts the fact. 



Trial for Constructive Treason, impolitic. — Mr. Wickham. 

The object of the American constitution, was to perpetuate 
the liberties of the people of this country. The framers of 
that instrument well knew the dreadful punishments inflicted, 
and the grievous oppressions produced by constructive treasons 
in other countries, as well where the primary object was the 
security of the throne, as where the public good was the pie- 
text. The events, which have since occured in another coun- 
try, and the sufTe rings under Robespierre, show how well hu- 
man nature was understood by those who framed our consti- 
tution. 

The framers of the constitution, with the great volume of 
human nature before them, knew that perjury could easily be 
enlisted on the side of oppression ; that any man might be- 
come the victim of private accusation ; that declarations might 
be proved which were never made ; and therefore they meant, 
as they have said, that no man should be the victim of such 
secret crimination : but that the punishment of this offence 
should only be incurred by those whose crimes are plain and 
apparent ; against whom an open deed is proved. 

Observe, sir, that I am arguing on abstract principles, and 
not with a particular application. But suppose the govern- 
ment wished to destroy any man : they find him in Geor- 
gia ; an insurrection happens in New Hampshire. This will 
suffice for the purpose, and if this cause go on they will be 
obliged to contend, that less will suffice ; that an insurrection 
is not necessary ; but that even a peaceable assemblage, going 



TRIAL FOR CONSTRUCTIVE TREASON, IMPOLITIC. 115 

down the Ohio, is sufficient for the purpose. They merely 
undertake to prove the existence of an insurrection ; that a 
number of people have committed an act of insurrection. The 
man, who is selected to be a victim, is dragged from one end 
of the continent to the other, before a judge, who is the crea- 
ture of the government, appointed at the pleasure of the gov- 
ernment, liable to be thrown out of office, if he offend the gov- 
ernment ; the cause comes on to trial ; they prove an insur- 
rection ; and when once this insurrection or assemblage can 
be proved by two witnesses, nothing remains but to connect 
with it the individual thus marked for destruction. And as 
this may be done by evidence of his secret acts, or even his 
declarations, he may be seized and hurried by force, from 
New Hampshire to Georgia, or to any part of the United 
States which his accusers may choose as best fitted for their 
purpose. It is in vain that he may prove, he was not present 
when the offence of which he is accused, was committed ; 
that he never at any period of his life, had been there ; that 
the actors and the scene were alike unknown to him ; wretches, 
who, from views of interest or revenge, are ready to further 
the views of his oppressors, will present themselves, and he 
may be convicted of treason, in levying open war against the 
government, with people whom he never saw, and at a place 
where he never was. Gentlemen may say, that this only 
shows, that the citizen may be equally the victim of false ac- 
cusations of other offences ; that it proves nothing, but that 
the innocent may be condemned or the testimony of perjured 
witnesses. In no other crime can a man be punished, except 
in the country or district where he committed the act. Let 
gentlemen mention for what other offence an individual may 
be tried in a different district from the one in which he did the 
act which constitutes the essence of the crime. And admit- 
ting their principle, in its full force, what becomes of the con- 
stitutional provision on this subject ? Where is the constitu- 
tional tribunal to try him, an impartial jury of the state, where- 



116 MODULATION. 

in the offence has been committed ? It is reduced to a mere 
nullity. The constitution meant something ; but according 
to this construction, it means nothing, and deceives, instead of 
affording any security. 



Obstinacy of Pilate. — Philo. 

" Pilate was Procurator of Judea. Not so much out of fa- 
vor to Tiberius as hatred of the Jews, he dedicated git shields, 
and placed them in Herod's palace, within the holy city. 
There was no figure upon them, nor anything else that was 
forbidden, except a certain needful inscription containing the 
name of the person who dedicated them, and of the person to 
whom they were dedicated. — When this transaction was noised 
abroad, the people petitioned that the shields, thus newly in- 
troduced, might be taken away, that their hereditary customs, 
which had been kept safe through so many ages by kings and 
emperors, might not be violated. He opposed their wishes 
with roughness, as he was a man of inflexible temper, arro- 
gant and implacable. They then cried out, " Do not you ex- 
cite sedition and war? Do not you put an end to our peace ? 
The Emperor is not honored by treating our ancient laws 
with disrespect. Do not make him, then, a pretext for injuring 
our nation. He does not wish to have any of our usages abol- 
ished. If you say that you have received any edict or letter, 
or anything of the kind from the Emperor, produce it; that 
we may cease troubling you with the matter, and by ambas- 
sadors may entreat the Emperor to revoke his command. -5 ' 
This last exasperates Pilate ; for he was afraid that if they 
should send an embassy, they would prove against him many 
mal-administrations of his government ; his pronouncing judg- 
ment under the influence of bribes, his abusive conduct, his 
extortion, his violence, his injustice, his oft-repealed slaughters 
of men who had not been condemned, his inhuman cruelty. 



PLEA AT BURR'S TRIAL. 117 

Feeling angry and implacable, Pilate now could not tell what 
to do. On the one hand, he neither dared to remove what 
had been dedicated, nor was he willing to do anything for the 
gratification of men who were his subjects ; and on the other 
hand, he was not ignorant of the firmness of Tiberius in things 
of this kind. When the chief men of the nation saw his per- 
plexity, and also that he repented of what he had done, but 
did not wish to have his sorrow perceived; they wrote to Ti- 
berius the most supplicatory letters. When the emperor had 
read these letters, what did he say of Pilate? What did he 
threaten ? It is needless to say how angry he became ; the 
event itself declares ; and yet he was not easily irritated. 
The event was, that immediately, even on that very day, he 
wrote a letter to Pilate, rebuked him severely for his recent 
audacious proceedings, and commanded him to remove the 
shields forthwith. Accordingly they were removed from the 
metropolis to Cesarea by the sea-side, called Sebasti, in honor 
of the great Augustus, that they might be placed in the tem- 
ple consecrated to him there. 



Plea at Burros trial. — Randolph. 

Let me add a few words, with respect to the necessity of 
force to what has been already said on that subject. Accord- 
ing to what has been often observed in the course of this trial, 
the crime consists of the beginning, the progress, and con- 
summation : in the course of which some force must be exhibi- 
ted. A man might begin a crime and stop short and be far 
from committing the act. He might go on one step still fur- 
ther, without incurring guilt. It is only the completion of the 
crime that the law punishes. Suppose an army were em- 
bodied by Mr. Burr, and they only assembled and separated 
without having committed any act : what would the govern- 
ment have to complain of? When they punish a man for 



118 MODULATION. 

murdering another, it is because he is dead. When a man 
commits a robbery, it is because a person has been put in fear 
and his property taken from him without his consent. So it 
is with respect to every other crime : while it is in an incipient 
state it is disregarded. No person is punishable, who is only 
charged with such an inchoate incomplete offence. The in- 
tention is never punished. In such cases time is allowed for 
repentance, at any time before its consummation. Such an of- 
fence as this is never punishable, unless in the case of con- 
spiracy : and even on a persecution charging that offence 
specially, the act of conspiring must be satisfactorily establish- 
ed. Here no injury has arisen to the commonwealth. No 
crime has been perpetrated. The answer to this is, that there 
were preparations to commit it. As far as communications 
have been made to the government, there is no possibility of 
proving a complete act, yet these accused must be punished. 
Then their rule of law is, that wherever there is a beginning 
of a crime, it shall be punished lest it should grow to maturity ! 
Is this the spirit of American legislation and American justice ? 
Is it the spirit of its free constitution to consider the germ as 
the consummation of an offence, the intention, so difficult to be 
ascertained and so easy to be misrepresented and misunder- 
stood, as the act itself? In such a system it may be a source 
of lamentation, that nojmore than death can be inflicted on the 
completion of the crime. Death, death, is to be the universal 
punishment, the watchword of humane legislation and juris- 
prudence ! 

I have done, sir — I find myself hurt, that I could not give a 
greater scope to my feelings on this all important subject. 
I will only add one remark, which I hope will be excused and 
considered as applying to all who occupy the sacred seat of 
justice. Judges have passed through the temple of virtue and 
arrived at that of honor ; but we find, that it is a just decree 
from the free will of the people, that the floor of that temple 
is slippery. Some may suppose that because the wheel of 



EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF PINCKNEY. 119 

fortune is not seen immediately to move, it is at rest. The 
rapidity deceives the sight. He who means to stand firm in 
that temple must place his hand on the statue of wisdom : the 
pedestal of which is a lion. These are the only qualities by 
which they can be useful in their honorable station. Popular 
effusion and the violence and clamor of party they will disre- 
gard. It is the more necessary, as judges may hereafter min- 
gle in politics : and they are but men : and the people are 
divided into parties. We look up to the judiciary to guard us. 
One thing I am certain of; that you will not look at conse- 
quences : that you wili determine " fiat justitia," let the result 
be what it may. 



Extract from a Speech of Pinckney. 

War brings to a neutral its benefits and its disadvantages. 
For its benefits he is indebted to the lamentable discord and 
misery of his fellow creatures, and he should, therefore, bear, 
not merely with a philosophic, but with a christian patience, 
the evils with which these benefits are alloyed. It is fortu- 
tunate for the world that they are so alloyed, and heaven for- 
bid that the time should ever arrive, when one portion of the 
human race should feel too deep an interest in perpetuating 
the destructive quarrels of their brethren. But it is said that 
the resistance which was made was a rightful resistance on 
the part of the commander of the Nereide, by whom it was 
made in fact. It was so ; and can Mr. Pinto take refuge be- 
hind the peculiar rights of his associates, without sharing the 
legal effects of their defeat ? Nothing could be more intoler- 
able than such a doctrine. A belligerent has a right to break 
a blockade if he can. But can a neutral, therefore, put him- 
self under the shade of that right, and in case the belligerent 
master should make the attempt and succeed, take the profit, 
and if he fails, claim immunity from confiscation by an inge- 



120 MODULATION. 

nious reinforcement of his own rights, with those of the belli- 
gerent master? Or if the conduct of the belligerent master 
shall be thought to be insufficient to impute to the owner of 
the cargo the Mens Rea in the case of the blockade by a 
sweeping presumption that the vessel is going into the block- 
ade port in the service of the cargo only — what shall we say 
to the case of the contraband, which must be put on board by 
the owner, with a knowledge that it will be exposed to the 
peril of capture, and if captured to the certainty of confisca- 
tion ? A belligerent master has a right to carry contraband 
if he can ; and only superior force can prevent him. But 
surely a neutral cannot so avail himself of that right, as to ship 
in safety, contraband articles in a belligerent vessel. If he 
could, he would have a larger and more effectual right than 
that under which he takes shelter ; for the belligerent's right is 
subject to be defeated by force, and so much of his property as is 
engaged in the enterprise, becomes prize of war, if he is con- 
quered. Just as in this case, his right of resistance is met on 
the other side by a right to attack and seize as a prize, and 
everything depends upon the issue of the combat. It is, in- 
deed, self-evident, that a neutral, who is driven to rely upon 
the rights of war, vested in others, not himself, leans upon a 
broken reed, if those rights fail of being successfully main- 
tained against the opposite party to the war ; and sure I am, 
that no case can be imagined, in which a neutral can cover 
himself with the right of a belligerent, whom he chooses to 
employ, and thus claim the combined advantages of a belli- 
gerent and a neutral character. If he can advance such a 
claim the cases of domicil have all been adjudged upon false 
principles, for they expressly affirm the contrary, and stand 
upon no other reason. 



KIGHTS OF SMALL STATES IN THE SENATE. 121 

'Rights of small States to equality in the Senate. — Tracy. 

This resolution, if circumstances shall unequivocally de- 
mand it, can pass at the next, or any future session of Congress. 
But once passed, and its passage will operate like the grave ; 
the sacrificed rights of the small states will be gone forever. 
Is it possible, sir, that any small state can submit to be a 
satellite in the state system, and revolve in a secondary orbit 
around a great state — act in humble devotion to her will, till her 
purposes are gratified, and then content herself to be thrown 
aside like a cast garment, an object of her own unceasing re- 
gret, and fit only for the hand of scorn to point its slow and 
moving finger at ? Can the members of the senate, who rep- 
resent the small states, quietly cross their hands and request 
the great states to bind them fast and to draw the ligature ? 

I am aware, sir, that I shall be accused of an attempt to ex- 
cite the jealousy of the small states. Mr. President, I repre- 
sent a small state ; I feel the danger, and claim the constitu- 
tional right to sound the alarm. From the same altar on 
which the small states shall be immolated, will rise the smoke 
of sacrificed liberty ; and despotism must be the dreadful suc- 
cessor. 

It is the cause of my country and of humanity which I plead. 
And when one vast overwhelming passion is in exercise, full 
well I know, sir, that no warning voice, no excitement but 
jealousy, has been sufficiently active and energetic in its op- 
eration to dissolve the wizard spell, and force mankind to 
listen to argument. 

Jealousy, hateful in private life, has, perhaps, done more in 
the preservation of political rights than all the virtues united. 

I have made the stand, sir, in the senate, which I thought 
the importance of the subject demanded. If I fail here, there 
is hope of success with the state legislatures. If nothing can 
withstand the torrent there, I shall experience the satisfaction 
which is derived from a consciousness of having raised my 
11 



122 MODULATION. 

feeble voice in defence of that constitution, which is not only 
the security of the small states, but the palladium of my coun- 
try's rights, and shall console myself with the reflection, that I 
have done my duty. 



Navigation of the Mississippi. — Ross. 

But I know it has been said, and will be said again, that 
the new French owners will confirm or pervert our right of 
deposit and free navigation of the Mississippi ; they will open 
a free port and give us all we desire. Yes, sir, this would be 
the unkindest cut of all. I fear much less the enmity of the 
present possessors, than such neighbors. We shall hold by 
their courtesy, not by the protection of our government. 
They will permit, but you cannot enforce. They will give 
us all the advantages we now have, and more ; but will it be 
for nothing ? Will they ask no return ? Have they no ul- 
terior views ? During this insidious interval they will be driv- 
ing rivet after rivet into the iron yoke which is to gall us and 
our children. We must go to market through a line of batteries 
manned by veterans; and return home with our money through 
a fortified camp. This privilege will be held at their will, and 
may be withheld whenever their Intendent forbids its further 
continuance. No doubt my earnestness may have betrayed 
me into expressions which were not intended. Every hon- 
orable gentlemen will, therefore, consider me as addressing 
his reason and judgment merely, without meaning to give 
cause of offence. But I cannot conclude without addressing 
particularly to those senators who represent the western states. 
I entreat them to remember, that these resolutions are intend- 
ed to vest a power which may or may not be used as events 
arise. If events should show, in the recess, that negociation 
should fail, what is the President to do ? He must call Con- 
gress. This will consume time, and the enemy gains in> 



ADDRESS OF DR. BETHUNE. 123 

mense advantages. Why not put a force at his disposal with 
which he can strike, with which he can have a pledge for 
your future well-being. When the Atlantic coast is willing, 
shall this security be lost by your votes ? Are you sure that 
you will ever again find the same disposition ? Can you re- 
call the decisive moment that may happen"' in a month after 
our adjournment ? Certainly the country may be in such a 
state, that at the next session you will have no such offer as 
at the present moment. There may be a pressure which 
would forbid it. Heretofore you have distrusted the Atlantic 
states ; and now, when they offer to pledge themselves, meet 
them and close with the proposal. If the resolutions are too 
strong, remodel them. If the means are not adequate, pro- 
pose other and more effectual measures. But as you value 
the best interests of the western country, and the union with 
the Atlantic coast, seize the present occasion of securing it 
forever. For the present is only a question of how much 
power the executive shall have for the attainment of this great 
end ; and no man, desirous of the end, ought to refuse the 
necessary means for attaining it. Your voice decides the di- 
rection this senate will take, and I devoutly wish it may be 
one we shall never repent. 



Address of Dr. Bethune before the Colonization Society. 

In the long history of the Jews, there was scarcely an ad- 
ministration more wise, prosperous and happy, than that of 
Samuel ; and yet the account of it is very brief. It was so wise, 
so prosperous that the historian has but little to say. I re- 
member reading the journals of two gifted friends who crossed 
the Atlantic. One had written a volume of incidents. When 
he left the port portentous omens were in the sky. The first 
night out was one of trouble and distress ; soon there were 
storms of thunder and lightning, and rain and hail, and the 



124 MODULATION, 

winds were fierce and contrary, and the vessel sprung a leak, 
and all lives on board were greatly endangered. This is but 
a specimen of what he experienced from the beginning to 
the end of the voyage. The other experienced nothing, and 
said liitle. For the same reason, I have little to say of the 
history of the Colonization Society during the past year. It 
has been so prosperous, has accomplished so much 5 has met 
with such favor in the community, that its story can be told 
in few words. 

While the country has been embarrassed, while pecuniary 
distress has crippled all other benevolent enterprises, and 
while storms have raged in other seas, the course of this So- 
ciety has been marked by unwonted prosperity, as is known 
by its receipts being larger than during any preceding year. 
It is a principle everywhere acknowledged, that those virtues 
and events which are quiet in their operation, and make the 
least noise, are the most useful. God moves the vast machin- 
ery of the world silently. The Gospel, in achieving the 
most wonderful transformations of human character, operates 
through a " still, small voice." 

Such has been the course of this Society the past year. No 
loud hurrahs have heralded its march. No thunder of artil- 
lery has announced its victories. Silently its peaceful publi- 
cation has entered the family circle, and called forth the lib- 
eral contribution ; or the quiet letter, describing its wants and 
its prospects, has been placed in the hands of the liberal and 
philanthropic, and has received a welcome reception, and se- 
cured an encouraging response. 

It cannot be doubted that, in promoting the scheme of Col- 
onization, we fall in with the general spirit of Christianity 
which promises the universal triumph of peace on earth. 
This promise, like a day-star from on high has visited us, and, 
like the pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night, it leads 
us on, under safe protection, and with sure pledges of final 
triumph. Let those who become discouraged* or who object 



GROUNDS OF WAR. 125 

to the Colonization of Liberia because so many die, think how 
many of the children of Israel perished in the wilderness ! 
Of all the vast number that came out of Egypt, only two 
lived to enter the promised land ! Surely, reasoning accord- 
ing to some modern rules, this must have been a very unjusti- 
fiable, unpatriotic scheme ! Only to think, too, that these 
poor deluded creatures, who were thus cheated into the wil- 
derness to die, were the native-born children of the land they 
left, and were actually expatriated. But it is said are there 
difficulties about this subject, both in this country and in Africa. 
We admit this in all its force. Necessity is the most effec- 
tual teacher, the fabulous history of Eome represents that its 
founder was nursed by a wolf; and no man and no nation 
ever has become great, that was not nursed at the shaggy 
breast of difficulty ! 

It is always impolitic as well as immoral, to despise the day 
of small things. 



Grounds of War. — Clinton. 

Vattel says : " two things, therefore, are necessary to ren- 
der (an offensive war) just. First, a right to be asserted ; 
that is, that a demand made on another nation be important 
and well grounded. Second, that this reasonable demand 
cannot be obtained otherwise than by force of arms. Neces- 
sity alone warrants the use of force. It is a dangerous and 
terrible resource. Nature, the common parent of mankind, 
allows of it only in extremity, and when all others fail. It is 
doing wrong to a nation to make use of violence against it, 
before we know whether it be disposed to do us justice, or to 
refuse it. Those, who, without trying pacific measures, on 
the least motive run to arms, sufficiently show that justificative 
reasons, in their mouths, are only pretences ; they eagerly 
seize the opportunity of indulging their passions and of gratify- 
11* 



326 MODULATION. 

ing their ambition, under some color of right." It is subse- 
quently stated by this admired author, that " it is demonstra- 
ted in the foregoing chapter, that, to take arms lawfully, first,, 
that we have a just cause of complaint : second, that a rea- 
sonable satisfaction has been denied us." 

A demand of redress before the application of force, has 
been almost uniformly practised by the most barbarous, as 
well as the most civilized nations. Instances may indeed be 
found to the contrary, but they are to be considered as depar- 
tures from established usage. The ancient Romans, who 
were a military nation, and who marched to empire through 
an ocean of blood, always demanded satisfaction from the of- 
fending nation before they proceeded to war, and fixed upon 
a certain time in which the demand was to be complied with : 
at the expiration of which, if redress was still withheld, they 
then endeavored to obtain it by force- It has been the gen- 
eral law of the civilized nations of Europe to promulge mani- 
festoes justificatory of their conduct, in resorting to arms. — 
These manifestoes contain a full statement of their wrongs, 
and almost always declare that they had previously endeavor- 
ed by negotiation to obtain a friendly adjustment of their com- 
plaints. What is this, but a declaration, that the law and the 
sense of nations demand this course ? What is it, but an ap- 
peal to the intuitive sense of right and wrong, which exists in 
every human bosom ? 



View of the Coliseum. — Dewey. 

" On the eighth of November, from the highland near Bac- 
cano, and about fourteen miles distant, I first saw Rome ; and 
although there is something very unfavorable to impression, 
in the expectation that you are to be greatly impressed, or that 
you ought to be, or that such is the fashion, yet Rome is too 
mighty a name to be withstood by any such or any other influent 



VIEW OF THE COLISEUM. 127 

ces. Let you come upon that bill in what mood you may, the 
scene will lay bold upon you. as with the hand of a giant. — 
I scarcely know how to describe the impression — but it seem- 
ed to me, as if something strong and stately, like the slow and 
majestic march of a mighty whirlwind, swept around those 
eternal towers ; the storms of time that had prostrated the 
proudest monuments of the world, seemed to have left their 
vibrations in the still and solemn air ; ages of history passed 
before me; the mighty procession of nations, — kings, consuls, 
emperors, empires, and generations, had passed over that 
sublime theatre. — The fire, the storm, the earthquake had gone 
by ; but there was yet left the still small voice — like that, at 
which the prophet ' wrapped his face in his mantle.' " 

I went to see the Coliseum by moonlight. It is the mon- 
arch, the majesty of all ruins — there is nothing like it. All 
the associations of the place, too, give it the most impressive 
character. When you enter within this stupendous circle of 
ruinous walls and arches, and grand terraces of masonry, ris- 
ing one above another, you stand upon the arena of the old 
gladiatorial combats and Christian martyrdoms ; and as you 
lift your eyes to the vast amphitheatre, you meet, in imagina- 
tion, the eyes of a hundred thousand Romans, assembled to 
witness these bloody spectacles. — What a multitude and 
mighty array of human beings, and how little do we know in 
modern times of great assemblies! One. two, and three, and 
at its last enlargement by Constantine, more than three hun- 
dred thousand persons could be seated in the Circus Maxi- 
mus ! 

But to return to the Coliseum — we went up under the con- 
duct of a guide, upon the walls, and terraces, or embank- 
ments, which supported the ranges of seats. The seats have 
long since disappeared ; and grass overgrows the spots where 
the pride, and power, and wealth, and beauty of Rome sat 
down to its barbarous entertainments. What thronging life 
was here then ! What voices, what greetings, what hurrying 



128 MODULATION. 

footsteps up the staircases of the eighty arches of entrance ! 
and now, as we picked our way carefully through decayed 
passages, or cautiously ascended some mouldering flight of 
steps, or stood by the lonely walls— ourselves silent, and, for 
a wonder, the guide silent too — there was no sound here but 
of the bat, and none came from without, but the roll of a dis* 
tant carriage, or the convent bell, from the summit of the 
neighboring Esquiline. It is scarcely possible to describe the 
effect of moonlight upon this ruin. Through a hundred rents 
in the broken walls — through a hundred lonely arches, and 
blackened passage-ways, it streamed in, pure, bright, soft, 
lambent, and yet distinct and clear, as if it came there at once 
to reveal, and cheer, and pity the mighty desolation. But if 
the Coliseum is a mournful and desolate spectacle as seen 
from within — without, and especially on the side which is in 
best preservation, it is glorious. We passed around it; and, 
as we looked upward, the moon shining through its arches, 
from the opposite side, it appeared as if it were the coronet 
of the heavens, so vast was it — or like a glorious crown upon 
the brow of night. 

I feel that I do not and cannot describe this mighty ruin. I 
can only say that I came away paralyzed, and as passive as a 
child. A soldier stretched out his hand for c un donof as we 
passed the guard ; and when my companion said I did wrong 
to give, I told him that I should have givejj my cloak, if the 
man had asked it. Would you break any spell that worldly 
feeling or selfish sorrow may have spread over your'mind, go 
and see the Coliseum by moonlight." 



Egyptian Rains found at Rome, —Dewey. 

Every day passed in Rome seems memorable. What an 
event should I not have thought it, at any former period of my 
life, to have passed a day in Rome ! I think it such still. I 



EGYPTIAN RUINS FOUND AT ROME, 129 

do not see how life can ever be common life, on such a spot. 
In truth, it seems as if one had no right to enjoy the common 
comforts of life amidst such ruins — the ruins of a world pass- 
ed away — the mighty shadows of ancient glory spreading over 
every hill — the very soil we tread upon, no longer the path- 
ways of the old Roman masters of the world, but the moulder- 
ing rubbish of their temples, their palaces, their fire-sides — 
the yet almost breathing dust of a life, signalized beyond all 
others in the world's great history. One feels that it would be 
an appropriate life here to sit down like Marius on the ruins 
of Carthage — or to burrow in the Coliseum — or to pitch one's 
tent alone, in the waste and silent fields, amid the rank grass 
or the thick towering reeds that have overgrown so large a 
portion of the ancient city. 

Everything is full of wonder,— everything is strikingly 
marked. ' x\s to the Egyptian obelisks, of polished granite, 
pointing up to the sky from almost every square and open 
space in Rome, and with that hand-writing of mysterious' and yet 
unexplained characters upon their sides — what could be more 
striking ? The antiquities of Rome are young by their side. 
Some of them were built by Sesostris, by Rameses, between 
three and four thousand years ago. They saw ages of em- 
pire and glory before Rome had a being. They are also 
in the most perfect preservation. So beautifully polished, 
and entirely free ^from stain, untouched by the storms of 
thirty-five cenujjfes, it seems as if they had not lost one of 
their partieles^since they came from the quarries of Egypt. 
That very surface, we know, has been gazed upon by the eyes 
of a hundred successive generations. — Speak dread monitors ! 
as ye point upward to Heaven — speak, dark hieroglyphic 
symbols ! and tell us — are ye not yet conscious, when conscious 
life has been flowing around you for three thousand years ? 
Methinks it were enough to penetrate the bosom of granite 
with emotion, to have witnessed what ye have witnessed. Me- 
thinks that the stern and inexorable mystery* graven upon 



130 MODULATION. 

your mighty shafts, must break silence, to tell that which it 
hath known of weal and wo, of change, disaster, blood, and 
crime ! 



Extract from a Speech of Josiah Quincy. 

Mr. Speaker, — I fear that the state of my health may pre- 
vent my doing justice to my sentiments, concerning this bill. 
I will, however, make the attempt, though I should fail in it. 

The bill proposes, that twenty thousand men should be ad- 
ded to the existing military establishment. This, at present, 
consists of thirty-five thousand. It is not pretended that this 
addition is wanted either for defence, or for the relief of the 
Indian frontier. On the contrary, it is expressly acknow- 
ledged, that the present establishment is sufficient for both 
those objects. But the purpose, for which these twenty thou- 
sand men are demanded, is the invasion of Canada. This 
proposed invasion of Canada has three aspects : First, as a 
means of carrying on the subsisting war. Second, as a means 
of obtaining an early and honorable peace. Third, as a means 
of advancing the personal and local projects of ambition of 
the members of the American Cabinet. 

When a victim is destined to be immolated, every hedge 
presents sticks for the sacrifice. The lamb, who stands at the 
mouth of the stream, will always trouble the water if you take 
the account of the wolf, who stands at the source of it. But show 
a good to us, bearing any proportion to the multiplied evils, 
proposed to be visited upon them. There is none. Never 
was there an invasion of any country worse than this, in point 
of moral principle, since the invasion of the West Indies by 
the Bucaneers, or that of these United States, by Captain Kidd. 
Indeed, both Kidd and the Bucaneers had more apology for 
their deed, than the American Cabinet. They had at least 
the hope of plunder. But, in this case, there is not even the 



EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF JOSIAH QTTINCY. 131 

poor refuge of cupidity. We have heard great lamentations 
about the disgrace of our arms on the frontier. Why, sir, 
the disgrace of our arms, on the frontier, is terrestrial glory, in 
comparison with the disgrace of the attempt. The whole at- 
mosphere rings with the utterance, from the other side of the 
house, of this word " glory" — " glory," in connection with 
this invasion. What glory r Is it the glory of the tiger, which 
lifts his jaws, all foul and bloody, from the bowels of his vic- 
tim, and roars for his companions of the wood, to come and 
witness his prowess and his spoils ? Such is the glory of 
Gengis Khan, and of Bonaparte. Be such glory far, very 
far from my country. Never, — never may it be accursed 
with such fame. A body of thirty or fifty thousand such men 
combined, armed, and under a popular leader, is a very for- 
midable force. They want only discipline and service to make 
them veterans. Opportunity to acquire these, Canada will 
afford. The army, which advances to the walls of Quebec, 
in the present condition of Canadian preparation, must be 
veteran. 

Let the American people receive this as an undoubted truth, 
which experience will verify. W T hoever plants the Ameri- 
can standard on the walls of Quebec, conquers it for himself, 
and not for the people of these United States. Whoever lives 
to see that event — may my head be low in the dust before 
it happen ! — will witness a dynasty established in that country 
by the sword. — He will see a king, or an emperor, dukedoms, 
and earldoms, and baronies, distributed to the officers ; and 
knights' fees, bestowed on the soldiery. 



Extract from Wirt's plea at Burr's trial. 

May it please your Honor,— It is my duty to proceed, on 
the part of the United States, in opposing this motion. But I 
should not deem it my duty to oppose it, if it were founded on 



132 MODULATION. 

correct principles. I stand here with the same independence 
of action, which belongs to the attorney of the United Stales ; 
and as he would certainly relinquish the prosecution the mo- 
ment he became convinced of its injustice, so also most cer- 
tainly would I. The humanity and justice of this nation would 
revolt at the idea of a prosecution, pushed on against a life, 
which stood protected by the laws ; but whether they would 
or not, T would not plant a thorn, to rankle for life in my heart, 
by opening my lips in support of a prosecution which I felt 
and believed to be unjust. But believing, as I do, that this 
motion is not founded in justice, that it is a mere manoeuvre 
to obstruct the inquiry, to turn it from the proper course, to 
wrest the trial of the facts from the proper tribunal, the jury, 
and embarrass the court with a responsibility which it ought 
not to feel, 1 hold it my duty to proceed — for the sake of the 
court, for the sake of vindicating the trial by jury, now sought 
to be violated, for the sake of full and ample justice in this 
particular case, for the sake of the future peace, union and 
independence of these states, I feel it my bounden duty to 
proceed. In doing which, I beg that the prisoner and his 
counsel will recollect the extreme difficulty of clothing my ar- 
gument in terms which may be congenial with their feelings. 
The gentlemen appear to me to feel a very extraordinary and 
unreasonable degree of sensibility on this occasion. . They 
seem to forget the nature of the charge, and that we are pros- 
ecutors. We do not stand here to pronounce a panegyric on 
the prisoner, but to urge on him the crime of treason against 
his country. We speak of treason, we must call it treason. 
When we speak of a traitor, we must call him a traitor. When 
we speak of a plot to dismember the union, to undermine the 
liberties of a great portion of the people of this country and 
subject them to a usurper and a despot, we are obliged to use 
the terms which convey those ideas. Why then are gentle- 
men so sensitive ? Why on these occasions, so necessary, so 
unavoidable, do they shrink back with so much agony of nerve, 



EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF MR. CLAY. 133 

as if, instead of a hall of justice, we were in a drawing-room 
with colonel Burr, and were barbarously violating towards him 
every principle of decorum and humanity ? 

Mr. Wickham has. indeed, invited us to consider the subject 
abstractedly ; and we have been told, that it is expected to be 
so considered : but, sir, if this were practicable, would there 
be no danger in it ? Would there be no danger, while we were 
meeting points, pursuing ingenious hypotheses, chasing ele- 
mentary principles over the wide extended plains and Alpine 
heights of abstracted law, that we should lose sight of the great 
question before the court ? This may suit the purposes of the 
counsel for the prisoner ; but it does not, therefore, necessarily 
suit the purposes of truth and justice. It will be proper, when 
we have derived a principle from law or argument, that we 
should bring it to the case before the court in order to test its 
application and its practical truth. In doing which we are 
driven into the nature of the case, and must speak of it as we 
find it. But besides the gentlemen have themselves rendered 
this totally abstracted argument completely impossible; for 
one of their positions is, that there is no overt act proved at all. 
It is obvious, therefore, that an abstract examination of this 
point cannot be made ; and since the gentlemen drive us into' 
the examination, they cannot complain if without any softening 
of lights, or deepening of shades, we exhibit the picture in its 
true and natural state. 



Extract from a Speech of Mr. Clay. 

Bonaparte has been compared to every hideous monster, 
and beast, from that mentioned in the Revelation, down to the 
most insignificant quadruped. He has been called the scourge 
of mankind, the destroyer of Europe, the great robber, the in- 
fidel, the modern Atilla, and heaven knows by what other 
names. Really, gentlemen, it reminds me of an obscure lady, 

12 



134 MODULATION. 

in a city not very far off, who also took it into her head, in 
conversation with an accomplished French gentleman, to talk 
of the affairs of Europe. She too spoke of the destruction of 
the balance of power, stormed and raged about the insatiable 
ambition of the emperor ; called him the curse of mankind, 
the destroyer of Europe. The Frenchman listened to her 
with perfect patience, and when she had ceased, said to her 
with ineffable politeness : Madam, it would give my master, 
the emperor, infinite pain, if he knew how hardly you thought 
of him. Sir, gentlemen appear to me to forget that they stand 
on American soil; that they are not in the British House of 
Commons, but in the chamber of the House of Representatives 
of the United States ; that we have nothing to do with the af- 
fairs of Europe, the partition of territory and sovereignty there, 
except so far as these things affect the interests of our own 
country. Gentlemen transform themselves into the Burkes, 
Chathams and Pitts of another country, and forgetting from 
honest zeal the interests of America, engage with European 
sensibility in the discussion of European interests. If gentle- 
men ask me, whether I do not review with regret and horror 
the concentration of such vast power in the hands of Bona- 
parte — 1 reply that I do. I regret to see the emperor of Chi- 
na holding such immense sway over the fortunes of millions 
of our species. I regret to see Great Britian possessing so 
uncontrolled a command over all the waters of our globe. If 
I had the ability to distribute among the nations of Europe 
their several portions of power and of sovereignty, I would 
say that Holland should be resuscitated, and given the weight 
she enjoyed in the days of her De Witts. I would confine 
France within her natural boundaries, the Alps, Pyrenees and 
the Rhine, and make her a secondary naval power only. I 
would abridge the British maritime power, raise Prussia and 
Austria to their original condition, and preserve the integrity 
of the empire of Russia. But these are speculations. I look 
at the political transactions of Europe, with the single excep- 



WAR. 135 

tion of their possible bearing upon us, as I do at the history of 
other countries, or other times. I do not survey them with 
half the interest that T do the movements in South America. 
Our political relation with them is much less important than it 
is supposed to be. I have no fears of French or English sub- 
jugation. If we are united, we are too powerful for the might- 
iest nation in Europe, or all Europe, combined. If we are 
separated and torn asunder, we shall become an easy prey to 
the weakest of them. If the latter dreadful contingency, our 
country will not be worth preserving. 



War.— R. Hall. 

The contests of nations are both the offspring and the parent 
of injustice. If the existence of war always implies injustice 
"in one at least of the parties concerned, it is also the fruitful 
parent of crime. It reverses, with respect to its objects, all 
the rules of morality. It is nothing less than a temporary re- 
peal of the principles of virtue. It is a system out of which 
almost all the virtues are excluded, and in which nearly all 
the vices are incorporated. Whatever renders human nature 
admirable or respectable, whatever engages love or confidence, 
is sacrificed at its shrine. In instructing us to consider a portion 
of our fellow creatures as the proper objects of enmity, it re- 
moves as far as they are concerned, the basis of all society, of 
all civilization and virtue ; for the basis of these is the good will 
due to every individual of the species, as being a part of our- 
selves. From this principle all the rules of social virtue emanate. 
Justice and humanity, in their utmost extent, are nothing more 
than the practical application of this great law. The sword, 
and that alone, cuts asunder the bond of consanguinity, which 
unites man to man. As it immediately aims at the extinction 
of life, it is next to impossible, upon the principle that every 
thing may be lawfully done to him whom we have a right to 



136 MODULATION. 

kill, to set limits to military license : for when men pass from 
the dominion of reason to that of force, whatever restraints 
are attempted to be laid on the passions, will be feeble and 
fluctuating. Though we must applaud, therefore, the attempts 
of the humane Grotius, to blend maxims of humanity with mil- 
itary operations, it is to be feared they will never coalesce, 
since the former imply the subsistence of those ties which the 
latter suppose to be dissolved. Hence the morality of peace- 
ful ties is directly opposite to the maxims of war. The fun- 
damental rule of the first is to do good ; of the latter to inflict 
injuries. The former commands us to succor the oppressed ; 
the latter to overwhelm the defenceless. The former teaches 
men to love their enemies ; the latter to make themselves ter- 
rible even to strangers. The rules of morality will not suffer 
us to promote the dearest interest by falsehood ; the maxims 
of war applaud it when employed in the destruction of others. 
That a familiarity with such maxims must tend to harden the 
heart, as well as to pervert the moral sentiments, needs no il- 
lustration. The natural consequence of their prevalence is an 
unfeeling and unprincipled ambition, with an idolatry of talents, 
and a contempt of virtue ; whence the esteem of mankind is 
turned from the humble, the beneficent and the good, to men 
who are qualified by a genius fertile in expedients, a courage 
that is never appalled, and a heart that never pities, to become 
the destroyers of the earth. While the philanthropist is devis- 
ing means to mitigate the evils and augment the happiness of 
the world, a fellow worker together with God, in exploring 
and giving effect to the benevolent tendencies of nature, the 
warrior is revolving in the gloomy recesses of his capacious 
mind, plans of future devastation and ruin. Prisons crowded 
with captives, cities emptied of their inhabitants, fields deso- 
late and waste, are among his proudest trophies. The fabric 
of his fame is cemented with tears and blood ; and if his name 
is wafted to the ends of the earth, it is in the shrill cry of suf- 
fering humanity ; in the curses and imprecations of those 
whom his sword has reduced to despair. 



PLEA OP WEBSTER. 137 

Plea of Webster. 
Mr. President, — I agree with the honorable managers, in 
the importance which they have attributed to this proceeding. 
They have, I think, not at all overrated that importance, nor 
ascribed to the occasion, a solemnity which does not belong 
to it. Pehaps, however, I differ from thern, in regard to the 
causes which give interest and importance to this trial, and to 
the parties likely to be most lastingly and deeply affected by 
its progress and result. The respondent has as deep a stake, 
no doubt, in this trial, as he can well have in anything which 
does not affect life. Regard for reputation, love of honorable 
character, affection for those who must suffer with him, if he 
suffers, and who will feel your sentence of conviction, if you 
should pronounce one, fall on their own heads as it falls on 
his, cannot but excite, in his breast, an anxiety, which nothing 
but a consciousness of upright intention could enable him to 
endure. Yet, sir, a few years will carry him far beyond the 
reach of the consequences of this trial. Those same years 
will bear away, also, in their rapid flight, those who prosecute 
and those who judge him. But the community remains. The 
commonwealth, we trust, will be perpetual. She is yet in 
her youth, as a free and independent state, and by analogy to 
the life of individuals, may be said to be in that period of her 
existence, when principles of action are adopted, and charac- 
ters formed. The honorable respondent will not be the prin- 
cipal sufferer, if he should here fall a victim to charges of un- 
deflnable offences, to loose notions of constitutional law, or 
novel rules of evidence. By the necessary retribution of 
things, the evil of such a course would fall most heavily on 
the state which should pursue it, by shaking its character for 
justice, and impairing its principles of constitutional liberty. 
This, sir, is the first interesting and important impeachment 
which has arisen under the constitution of the commonwealth. 
The decision now to be made cannot but affect subsequent cases. 
12* 



138 MODULATION. 

Governments necessarily are more or less regardful of pre- 
cedents, on interesting public trials, and on the present occa- 
sion, all who act any part here have naturally considered what 
has been done, and what rules and principles have governed, 
in similar cases, in other communities, so those who shall 
come after us will look back to this trial. And I most devout- 
ly hope they may be able to regard it as a safe and useful 
example, fit to instruct and guide them in their own duty ; an 
example full of wisdom and of moderation ; an example of 
law and principle, successfully opposed to temporary excite- 
ment ; an example, indicating in all those who bear a leading 
part in the proceedings, a spirit, fitted for a judicial trial, and 
proper for men who act with an enlightened and firm regard 
to the permanent interests of public constitutional liberty. To 
preserve the respondent in the office which he fills, may be 
an object of little interest to the public ; and to deprive him 
of that office may be of as little. But on what principles he is 
either to be preserved or deprived, is an inquiry, in the highest 
degree important, and in which the public has a deep and 
lasting interest. 



Extract from a Speech of Burke. 

Gentlemen, — I come hither to solicit in person, that favour 
which my friends have hitherto endeavored to procure for me, 
by the most obliging, and to me the most honorable exertions. 

I have so high an opinion of the great trust which you have 
to confer on this occasion ; and by long experience, so just a 
diffidence in my abilities, to fill it in a manner adequate even 
to my own ideas, that I should never have ventured of myself 
to intrude into that awful situation. But since 1 am called 
upon by the desire of several respectable fellow-subjects, as 
I have done at other times, I give up my fears to their wishes. 
Whatever my other deficiencies may be, I do not know what 
it is to be wanting to my friends. 



EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF BURKE. 139 

I am not fond of attempting to raise public expectations by 
great promises. At this time, there is much cause to consid- 
er, and very little to presume. We seem to be approaching 
to a great crisis in our affairs, which calls for the whole wis- 
dom of the wisest among us, without being able to assure our- 
selves, that any wisdom can preserve us from many and 
great inconveniences. You know I speak of our unhappy 
contest with America. I confess, it is a matter on which I 
look down as from a precipice. It is difficult in itself, and it 
is rendered more intricate by a great variety of plans of con- 
duct. I do not mean to enter into them. I will not suspect 
a want of good intention in framing them. But however pure 
the intentions of their authors may have been, we all know 
that the event has been unfortunate. The means of recover- 
ing our affairs' are not obvious. So many great questions of 
commerce, of finance, of constitution, and of policy, are in- 
volved in this American deliberation, that I dare engage for 
nothing, but that I shall give it, without any predilection to for- 
mer opinions, or any sinister bias whatsoever, the most honest 
and impartial consideration of which lam capable. The pub- 
lic has a full right to it ; and this great city, a main pillar in 
the commercial interest of Great Britain, must totter on its 
base by the slightest mistake with regard to our American 
measures. 

Thus much, however, I think it not amiss to lay before 
you ; that I am not, I hope, apt to take up, or lay down my 
opinions lightly. I have held, and ever shall maintain, to the 
best of my power, unimpaired and undiminished, the just, wise 
and necessary constitutional superiority of Great Britain. This 
is necessary for America as well as for us. I never mean to 
depart from it. Whatever may be lost by it, I avow it. The 
forfeiture even of your favour, if by such a declaration I could 
forfeit it, though the first object of my ambition, never will 
make me disguise my sentiments on this subject. 



140 MODULATION. 

The Mechanic's Delegation. — Dr. Reed. 

Every disadvantage has its counterpart. If we had a host 
of people crammed into a little boat, it gave one an opportu- 
nity of observing, unobserved, the unconstrained manner of 
the passengers. Dinner brought us all together ; and put us 
on a degree of intercourse. It appeared that about twenty 
on board were of one party ; and that they were delegates to 
a convention of mechanics which was to be held at Utica, 
against what they termed the State Prison Monopoly. The 
ground of complaint was, that the convicts were employed at 
several trades, and that the articles so manufactured were sold 
at a price below that of the honest and independent trades- 
man. It was evident that this delegation was composed of 
the successful and superior manufacturers of New York. 
They were a curious assemblage of persons. Dutch, Irish, 
Scotch, and American. Their numbers gave them confi- 
dence ; and they were the great people of the day. 

When the dinner was over, they professed to hold, by antici- 
pation, a meeting of the delegates ; but the design was rather 
to discuss some champagne than any business. I took a book, 
and remained at a little distance. A president was chosen ; 
and the wine was brought foward. It was to be seasoned by 

toasts and songs. Mr. A , a Scotchman, was called on 

to sing. He had reputation in this way, and brought applause 
about him. His song was a hit at lords and kings, and a com- 
mendation of manliness in man. The president than gave, 
" The independent mechanic; which was, of course, drunk 
with " great enthusiasm." Then came " The mechanics of 
the State, and may the cause they are in prosper," with " three 
times three," and a song. One of the delegates then propo- 
sed, " The health of J L , Esq, which was chairman 

of the committee which brought up the first report." 

There was one person among them who declined the wine ; 
and he was joked as a water-drinker and a temperance man. 



AN AMERICAN WIND- STORM. 141 

He had not, however, confidence to avow himself, though he 
had to refuse the wine. He met their gibes with good tem- 
per ; and gave as a toast, " May he that has power to help 
us, and does not, want a cup of cold water." This uncharita- 
ble sentiment conciliated their prejudices, and they kept on 
good terms with him. 

These men were evidently not accustomed to the use of 
wine, and they used it inordinately. The tumbler was, in 
some instances, preferred to the glass. As the wine entered, 
the wit, such as it was, got out ; it was witless and vile enough. 
But I took warning, and went above. 

Their potations of wine heated them, and made them rest- 
less ; and they soon followed me to the roof. Here they 
amused themselves with all manner of boyish tricks and 
practical jokes. They knocked each other's hats off; jumped 
on shore ; chased each other. One of them got possession of 
ahorse, and mounted; another hung on its tail; while a 
third seized the rein and tried to dismount the rider. He, 
to free himself, pricked the horse ; the animal knocked down 
the man who had the rein, and left him rolling into the canal. 
The enacting of this scene, like the fifth act of a comedy, 
brought merriment to a crisis ; and was attended by roars of 
laughter. It was, certainly, but a poor specimen of the trades- 
men of a great city. 



An American Windstorm — Dr. Reed. 

While at Washington, I first witnessed the wind-storm, 
which is common in this country. It is peculiar — sometimes 
awful. The morning had been hot, and the sky fair ; I had been 
to the Senate, and was now resting and writing in my cham- 
ber. Quietly the soft and refreshing breezes went down ; a 
haze came over the sun, so that it shone as behind a gauze 
curtain. Every noise was stilled, except that of the frog 3 



142 MODULATION. 

which was unpleasantly audible. The sky got silently darker 
and darker ; the atmosphere became oppressive ; and not a 
breath of air was felt. Suddenly, in the distance, you would 
see things in commotion, and, while everything was yet quiet 
about you, you might hear the distant roaring of the wind, 
then the cattle run away to their best shelter ; the mother 
calls in her heedless children ; and the housewife flies 
from story to story, to close her windows and shutters 
against the coming foe. Now the dust, taken up in whirl- 
winds, would come flying along the roads ; and then would 
come the rush of wind, which would make everything trem- 
ble, and set the doors, windows, and trees flying, creaking, 
and crashing around you. You would expect the torrent to 
fall and the thunder to roll ; but no, there was neither rain nor 
thunder there. It was wind, and wind alone ; and it wanted 
nothing to increase its power on the imagination. It raged 
for a few minutes, and then passed as suddenly away, leav- 
ing earth and sky as tranquil and as fair as it found them. It 
is not easy to account for this very sudden destruction and 
restoration of an equilibrium in nature. The phenomenon, 
however, supplies a fine illustration of some striking passages 
in Holy Scripture. 



Literary Censorship of the U. States. — Prof. Edwards. 

Our national literature is in a forming state. Established 
usage, literary standards, family interests, control much less 
in this country than in Europe. We have no civil, nor scarce- 
ly any literary censorship. Our periodical reviews mostly 
confine themselves to commendation. Every man publishes 
what is right in his own eyes. No individual has appeared in 
this country with a flail like that of Doctor Johnson — with a 
power of rebuking vicious books and depraved authors, which 
was not to be gainsayed or trifled with. The rapidity of the 
transmission of thought is very great. There are few post- 



LITERARY CENSORSHIP OF THE UNITED STATES. 143 

office systems more minute in detail, more penetrating than 
our own. A paragraph committed to a book or a pamphlet is 
soon gone beyond the power of control or recal. It is poisoning 
the minds of hundreds west of the Mississippi, or it is vindica- 
ting among the inhabiiants of Florida, the rights of the op- 
pressed. The number of readers is great. There are few 
among the millions of the older states, who have the organs of 
vision, but can peruse the paragraph charged with libel, or 
the paragraph inciting to noble deeds. Volney and Vol- 
taire, Abner Kneeland and Ethan Allen, are found in the 
woollen manufactory, in the western steamboat, in the Schuyl- 
kill colliery. A correct public sentiment in this country, 
where it exists, is not made to bear promptly on this subject ; 
a considerable time must elapse after a publication is issued, 
before the virtuous part of the community utter their voice. 
They are so divided by denominational, or party lines, or so 
engaged in politics, or commerce, that they do not rise up to 
condemn a book till it has diffused its poison widely through 
the community. Their voice may be full and unequivocal 
when it comes, but it is too late. 

Public opinion is in a highly excited condition on all sub- 
jects. The appetite, already sadly perverted and depraved, 
must still be plied with all possible provocatives. There is a 
tendency in some quarters to denounce everything like sound 
reasoning, mature investigation, and scholar-like criticism, as 
heavy, metaphysical, unintelligible. Now it is very easy for 
publishers, authors, and editors to take advantage of this fever- 
ish state of the public mind. Give, give, is the demand. Take, 
take, is the reply. Perhaps in no quarter of the world is person- 
al defamation carried on, through the press, so extensively as in 
this country. Even the grave Religious Quarterly may not al- 
ways be wholly free. Books must not only be accompanied 
with flaming and licentious embellishments, but they must be 
seasoned with slander, and made captivating by calumny and 
vituperation. From these remarks, it is very obvious that all 



144 MODULATION. 

who are connected with the press should be men of sterling 
principle. Accurate knowledge, great enterprise and energy, 
intelligence, and general excellence of character are not suf- 
ficient. These men ought to be worthy of filling a high place 
in society. Upon no individuals is the advance of mankind 
in knowledge and happiness more essentially depending. 
They should be eminently conscientious. They should have 
that regard to the public welfare which will cause them to 
make sacrifices for its promotion. They should attach a much 
higher importance, than they are accustomed to do, to their 
profession as a part of that great array of force, which is to 
renovate the world. 



Voluntary Associations of Christian Benevolence. — Prof. 
Edwards. 

It is now between forty and fifty years since Christendom 
began to enter with some zeal on the great work of diffusing 
the gospel throughout the world. At first, the warm impul- 
ses of pious feeling seemed to prompt to the effort, and to 
supply the place of well established principles, and properly 
devised modes of operation. That spring-time of hope and 
expectation has passed. The ardent feeling and the excited 
imagination, which threw so much interest over the com- 
mencement of these efforts, have given way to the sober real- 
ity of the work itself. With undimmed eye and with unexcited 
feeling, we can now look out on the vast and difficult enter- 
prise before us, It is well for us to reconnoitre our position, 
and put up some landmarks for our guidance. A few simple, 
and general principles are now to be settled. It is a fact ad- 
mitted on all hands, that the gospel is to be diffused by hu- 
man instrumentality. The question is : How shall this instru- 
mentality be directed and employed? Who shall have the 
control and responsibility of the undertaking? By what agen- 



VOLUNTARY ASSOCIATIONS. 145 

cies in Christian lands can the great victory over sin and er- 
ror be achieved ? The question is not, whether all the de- 
nominations shall be consolidated into one vast association. 
Such a proposal would find few advocates. It has no con- 
cern with the discussion of the relative merits of different 
forms of church government. The high dignity, and im- 
measurable value of the Christian church, as the institution of 
the New Testament, admit of no denial or doubt. The sub- 
ject has no bearing on the discussion of the mode in which 
persons shall be received into the Christian church, or induc- 
ted into the offices of that church. All these questions must 
be entirely left to ecclesiastical bodies. With the peculiar 
responsibilities of those who hold the licensing, or ordaining 
power, there is no intention on the part of any one to interfere. 
Prescription or dictation are also to be wholly set aside. The 
day is gone by, when any measure or mode can be forced on 
a reluctant community, or a rebellious denomination. Finally, 
there is no ground for doubt in respect to the support which 
the agents, who may be employed in the work, shall receive. 
They are not called upon to work gratuitously. The Bible 
has determined that the missionary laborer is worthy of his 
hire. The question is : Whether benevolent efforts in any one 
denomination of Christians, or in any two denominations, or in 
any portion of them, which may choose to unite their strength, 
shall be voluntary or be controlled by, and be accountable to, 
an ecclesiastical organization ? Is the conversion of the worlj, 
to be left (with the blessing of the Holy Spirit, and under ths 
guidance of his written will) to the voluntary, unrestricted ef- 
forts of individuals in the church ; or is it to be accomplished 
by the church, in her distinctive capacity, as an organized ec- 
clesiastical body ? At the very outset of the inquiry, we are 
met with the objection, that the church was constituted for the 
very purpose of extending the Gospel through the world, 
and that voluntary associations, in assuming this work, are 
usurping the function of the church, and depriving her of 

13 



146 MODULATION. 

these privileges and responsibilities which were assigned to 
her by her Lord and Master. But this, it is conceived, is a 
mere verbal, unsubstantial objection. The churches are now 
on the voluntary mode, in effect, performing the work. The 
voluntary association is the agent, or the trustee of the 
churches. Its life is derived from them. If they withdraw 
their support, it dies of course. Its agency is a derived and 
subordinate one. It is the mere creature of that public opin- 
ion which prevails in the churches. If they become dissatis- 
fied with its proceedings, or lose their confidence in the im- 
portance of its object it disappears immediately. 



Extracts from Demosthenes' Orations, 

Extract 1. — It seems to me, Athenians that some divinity, 
who, from a regard to Athens, looks down on our conduct 
with indignation, hath inspired Philip with this restless ambi- 
tion ; for were he to set down in the quiet enjoyment of his con- 
quests and acquisitions, without proceeding to any new at- 
tempts, there are men among you who, I think, would be un- 
moved at those transactions which have branded our state 
with the odious marks of infamy, cowardice, and all that is 
base. But as he still pursues his conquests — as he is still ex- 
tending his ambitious views,— possibly he may at last call you 
forth, unless you have renounced the name of Athenians. To 
me it is astonishing that none of you look back to the begin- 
ning of this war, and consider that we engaged in it to chas- 
tise the insolence of Philip, but that now it is become a defen- 
sive war to secure us from his attempts ; and that he will ever 
be repeating these attempts is manifest, unless some power 
rises to oppose him. But if we wait in expectation of this,-— 
if we send out armaments composed of empty galleys, and 
those hopes with which some speaker may have flattered you, 
— can you then think your interests well secured ? (°) Shall 



EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 147 

we not embark ? shall we not sail with at least a part of our 
domestic force now, since we have not hitherto ? — But where 
shall we make our descent ? Let us hut engage in the enter- 
prise, and the war itself, Athenians, will show us where he is 
the weakest. But if we sit at home listening to the mutual 
invectives and accusations of our orators, we cannot expect — 
no, not the least success in any one particular. Wherever a 
part of our city is detached, although the whole be not present, 
the favor of the gods and the kindness of fortune attend to 
fight on our side ; but when we send out a general, and an 
insignificant decree, and the hopes of our speakers, misfor- 
tune and disappointment must ensue. Such expeditions are 
to our enemies a sport, but strike our allies with deadly ap- 
prehensions ; for it is not— it is not possible for any one man 
to perform everything you desire. He may promise, and 
harangue, and accuse this or that person ; but to such pro- 
ceedings we owe the ruin of our affairs. For when a general 
who commanded a wretched collection of unpaid foreigners 
hath been defeated,— when there are persons here who, in ar- 
raigning his conduct, dare to advance falsehoods, — and when 
you lightly engage in any determination just from their sug- 
gestions, — what must be the consequence ? How, then, shall 
these abuses be removed ? ( ) By offering yourselves, Athe- 
nians, to execute the commands of your general, to be wit- 
nesses of his conduct in the field, and his judges at your re- 
turn ; so as not only to hear how your affairs are transacted, 
but to inspect them. 



Extract 2.— As to your own conduct : some wander about, 
crying, Philip hath joined with the Lacedaemonians, and they 
are concerting the destruction of Thebes, and the dissolution 
of some free states ; others assure us he hath sent an am- 
bassy to the king ; others, that he is fortifying places in Illy- 



148 MODULATION. 

ria. Thus we all go about framing our several tales. I do 
believe, indeed, Athenians, he is intoxicated with his great- 
ness, and does entertain his imagination with many such 
visionary prospects, as he sees no power rising to oppose him, 
and is elated with his success. But I cannot be persuaded 
that he hath so taken his measures, that the weakest among 
us know what he is next to do ; for it is the weakest among 
us who spread these rumors. Let us disregard them. Let 
us be persuaded of this, — that he is our enemy; that he hath 
spoiled us of our dominions ; that we have long been subject 
to his insolence ; that whatever we expected to be done for 
us by others hath proved against us ; that all the resource left 
is in ourselves ; that if we are not inclined to carry our arms 
abroad, we may be forced to engage here ; — let us be per- 
suaded of this, and then we shall come to a proper determi- 
nation — then shall we be freed from those idle tales. For we 
are not to be solicitous to know what particular events will 
happen ; we need but be convinced nothing good can happen 
unless you grant the due attention to affairs, and be ready to 
act as becomes Athenians. 

( •• ) I, on my part, have never on any occasion chosen to 
court your favor by speaking anything but what I was con- 
vinced would serve you ; and on this occasion 1 have freely 
declared my sentiments, without art and without reserve. It 
would have pleased me, indeed, that as it is for your advan- 
tage to have your true interest laid before you, so I might be 
assured that he who layeth it before you would share the ad- 
vantage, for then I had spoken with greater alacrity. How- 
ever, uncertain as is the consequence with respect to me, I 
yet determined to speak, because 1 was convinced that these 
measures, if pursued, must have their use; and of all those 
opinions which are offered to your acceptance, may that be 
chosen which will best advance the general weal ! 



EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 149 

Extract 3. — Athenians ! when the hostile attempts of 
Philip, and those outrageous violations of the peace which he 
is perpetually committing, are at any time the subject of our 
debates, the speeches on your side I find humane and just ; 
and that the sentiments of those who inveigh against Philip 
never fail of approbation : but as to the necessary measures, 
to speak out plainly, not one hath been pursued, nor anything 
effected even to reward the attention to these harangues. 
Nay, to such circumstances is our state reduced, that the 
more fully and evidently a man proves that Philip is acting 
contrary to his treaty, and harboring designs against Greece, 
the greater is his difficulty in pointing out your duty. 

The reason is this. They who aspire to an extravagant 
degree of power are to be opposed by force and action, not 
by speeches : and yet, in the first place, we public speakers 
are unwilling to recommend or to propose anything to this 
purpose, from the fear of your displeasure ; but confine our- 
selves to general representations of the grievous, of the out- 
rageous nature of his conduct, and the like. Then you who 
attend are better qualified than Philip, either to plead the jus- 
tice of your cause, or to apprehend it when enforced by 
others ; but as to any effectual opposition to his present de* 
signs, in this you are entirely inactive. You see, then, the 
consequence, the necessary, the natural consequence ; each 
of you excels in that which hath engaged your time and ap- 
plication ; he in acting, you in speaking. And if, on this oc- 
casion, it be sufficient that we speak with a superior force of 
truth and justice, this may be done with the utmost ease : but 
if we are to consider how to rectify our present disorders; 
how to guard against the danger of plunging inadvertently 
into still greater ; against the progress of a power which may 
at last bear down all opposition ; then must our debates pro-. 
ceed in a different manner ; and all they who speak, and all 
13* 



150 MODULATION. 

you who attend, must prefer the best and most salutary meas- 
ures to the easiest and most agreeable. 

If there be a man who feeis no apprehensions at the view 
of Philip's power, and the extent of his conquests, who ima- 
gines that these portend no danger to the state, or that his 
designs are not all aimed against you, I am amazed ! and must 
entreat the attention of you all while I explain those reasons 
briefly which induce me to entertain different expectations, 
and to regard Philip as our real enemy ; that if I appear to 
have looked forward with the more penetrating eye, you may 
join with me ; if they, who are thus secure and confident in 
this man, you may yield to their direction. 

I consider the acquisitions made by Philip, when the peace 
was just concluded — Thermopylae, and the command of Pho- 
cis. What use did he make of these ? He chose to serve the 
interest of Thebes, not that of Athens. And why ? As am- 
bition is his great passion, universal empire the sole object of 
his views ; not peace, not tranquillity, not any just purpose : 
he knew this well, that neither our constitution nor our prin- 
ciples would admit him to prevail on you, by anything he 
could promise, by anything he could do, to sacrifice one state 
of Greece to your private interest : but that, as you have the 
due regard to justice, as you have an abhorrence of the least 
stain on your honor, and as you have that quick discernment 
which nothing can escape, the moment his attempt was made, 
you would oppose him with the same vigor, as if you your- 
selves had been immediately attacked. The Thebans, he 
supposed (and the event confirmed his opinion), would for the 
sake of any private advantage, suffer him to act towards 
others as he pleased ; and far from opposing or impeding his 
designs, would be ready at his command to fight on his side. 
From the same persuasion he now heaps his favors on the 
Messenians and Arigans. ( ) And this reflects the greatest 
lustre on you, my countrymen ; for by these proceedings you 
are declared the only invariable assertors of the rights of 



EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 151 

Greece ; the only persons whom no private attachment, 
no views of interest can seduce from their affection to the 
Greeks. 



Extract 4. — If there be one among you, Athenians, who re- 
gards Philip as a powerful and formidable enemy on account 
of his good fortune, such cautious foresight bespeaks a truly 
prudent mind. Fortune, indeed, does greatly influence, or 
rather has the entire direction, of all human affairs ; but there 
are many reasons to expect much more from the fortune of 
Athens than that of Philip. We can boast of an authority in 
Greece, derived from our ancestors, not only before his days, 
but before any one prince of Mace don. They all were tribu- 
taries of Athens : Athens never paid that mark of subjection 
to any people. In the next place, the more inviolably w r e 
have adhered to piety and justice, the greater may be our 
confidence in the favor of the gods. But, if this be the case, 
how is it that in the late war his arms had such superior for- 
tune ? This is the cause (for I will speak with undaunted 
freedom) ; he takes the field himself; endures its toils, and 
shares its dangers ; no favorable incident escapes him ; no 
season of the year retards him. While we (for the truth 
must not be concealed) are confined within our walls in per- 
fect inactivity, delaying, and voting, and wandering through 
the public places in search of news. (°) Can anything better 
deserve the name of new, than that one sprung from Macedon 
should insult Athens, and dare to send such letters as you 
have just heard recited ? that he should have his armies and 
his orators in pay ? (=) (yes, I call Heaven to witness, there 
are those among us who do not blush to live for Philip, who 
have not sense to perceive that they are selling all the inter- 
ests of the state, all their own real interests, for a trifling pit- 
tance !) — while we never once think of preparing to oppose 



152 MODULATION. 

him ; are quite adverse to hiring troops, and want resolution 
to take up arms ourselves. No wonder, therefore, that he 
had some advantage over us in the late war : on the contrary, 
it is really surprising that we, who are quite regardless of all 
that concerns our cause, should expect to conquer him who 
leaves no means omitted that may assure his success. 

Let these things be duly weighed, Athenians, and deeply 
impressed on your minds. Consider that it is not at your op- 
tion whether to profess peace or no ; for he hath now made a 
declaration of war, and hostilities are commenced. Spare no 
expenses, public or private : let a general ardor appear for 
taking arms : appoint abler commanders than you have 
hitherto chosen ; for it must not be imagined that the men 
who, from a state of prosperity, have reduced us to these diffi- 
culties, will again extricate us, and restore us to our former 
splendor: nor is it to be expected that, if you continue thus 
supine, your cause will find other assertors. Think how 
infamous it is that you, whose ancestors were exposed to 
such incessant toils and so great dangers, in the war with La- 
cedcemon, should refuse to engage with resolution in defence 
of that rightful power which they transmitted to us ! ( ) Flow 
shameful that this Macedonian should have a soul so daring, 
that, to enlarge his empire, his whole body is covered with 
wounds ; and that the Athenians, they whose hereditary cha- 
racter it is to yield to none, but to give law to all their adver- 
saries, are now supine and enervated, insensible to the glory of 
their fathers, and regardless of the interests of their country ! 



Extract 5. — I, on my part, ye men of Athens, think that a 
war with the king may prove dangerous ; in a battle, the con- 
sequence of such a war, I see no danger. And why ? Be- 
cause wars of every kind require many advantages of naval 
force, of money, and of places. Here he is superior to the 



EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 153 

state. In a battle, nothing is so necessary to ensure success 
as valiant troops ; and of these we and our confederates can 
boast the greater number. For this reason I earnestly recom- 
mend to you by no means to be the first to enter on a war ; 
but for an engagement I think you should be effectually pre- 
pared. Were there one method of preparing to oppose Bar- 
barians, and another for engaging with Greeks, then we might 
expect with reason that any hostile intentions against the 
Persian must be at once discovered : but as in every arma- 
ment the manner is the same, the general provisions equally 
the same, whether our enemies are to be attacked, or our al- 
lies to be protected and our rights defended ; why, when we 
have avowed enemies, should we seek for others? Shall we 
not prepare against the one, and be ready to oppose the other, 
should he attempt to injure us? — Call now on the Greeks 
to unite with you. — But suppose you should not readily con- 
cur with them in all their measures (as some are by no means 
favorably inclined to this state), can it be imagined that they 
will obey your summons ? — " Certainly ; for we shall con- 
vince them that the king forms designs against their interests 
which they do not foresee." — (°) Ye powers ! is it possible 
that you can be thus persuaded ? Yes ; I know you are : but 
whatever apprehensions you may raise, they must influence 
these Greeks less forcibly than their disputes with you and 
with each other ; and therefore the remonstrances of your am- 
bassadors will but appear like the tales of idle wanderers. If, 
on the other hand, you pursue the measures now proposed, 
there is not a single state of Greece that will hesitate a mo- 
ment to come in and to solicit your alliance when they see 
our thousand horse, our infantry as numerous as could be 
wished, our three hundred ships; an armament which they 
must regard as their surest refuge and defence. Should you 
apply for their assistance, you must appear as supplicants ; 
should they refuse it, you incur the shame of a repulse : but 
if, while your forces are completed, you suspend your opera- 



154 MODULATION. 

tions, the protection you then grant to them must appear as 
the consequence of their request ; and be assured they will 
all fly to you for this protection. 

With these and the like reflections deeply impressed on my 
mind, I have not labored to prepare a bold, vain, tedious ha- 
rangue. ( 00 ) No, my fellow-citizens ! our preparations have 
been the sole object of my thoughts, and the manner of con- 
ducting them with effect and expedition. If my sentiments 
be approved, confirm them by your voices. 



Extract 6. — I have heard it frequently observed in this as- 
sembly, that when the state was in its deepest distress, there 
were not wanting friends to concert measures for its restora- 
tion. Of this I shall at present briefly mention but one in- 
stance — I mean that of the Argives. And I should be sorry 
that we, whose distinguished character it is to protect the 
wretched, should appear inferior to the Argives in this particu- 
lar. They, though seated on the borders of Lacedsemon, wit- 
nesses of the uncontrolled power of this city, both by sea and 
land, yet could not be diverted, could not be deterred from 
expressing their affection to the Athenians. When ambassa- 
dors came from Lacedsemon to demand some Athenian exiles 
who had taken refuge at Argos, they declared by a decree, 
that unless these ambassadors departed from their city before 
the setting sun they should be accounted enemies. And 
would it not be shameful, my countrymen, that the populace 
of Argos should, in such times as these, defy the terror of the 
Lacedsemonian power and sovereignty, and yet that you, who 
are Athenians, should be terrified by a Barbarian, nay, by a 
woman ? The Argives might have justly pleaded that they 
had oftentimes been conquered by the Lacedsemonians. But 
you have frequently proved victorious over the king ; never 
were once defeated, either by his slaves or by himself. Or, 



EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 155 

if the Persian boasts to have obtained any advantage over us, 
he owes it to those treasures which he lavished on the corrupt 
traitors and hirelings of Greece. If ever he hath prevailed, 
by these means hath he prevailed. Nor have such successes 
proved of real use. No : we find that, at the very time when 
he was endeavoring to depress this state by the help of Lace- 
daemon, his own dominions were exposed to the dangerous at- 
tempts of Clearchus and Cyrus. Thus were his avowed at- 
tacks ever unsuccessful, his secret practices attended with no 
real advantage. 

There are men among you who frequently affect a disre- 
gard of Philip, as if beneath their attention ; but of the king 
express the most terrible apprehensions, as of an enemy truly 
dangerous to those whom he may determine to attack. If, 
then, we are never to oppose the one, because weak, and to 
make unbounded concessions to the other, because formida- 
ble, against whom, my countrymen, are we to draw our 
swords ? 

There are men, too, most powerful in pleading for the 
rights of others in opposition to your demands. To these I 
would make one request ; that they should endeavor to dis- 
play an equal zeal in the defence of your rights against your 
adversaries. Thus shall they be the first to show a real re- 
gard to justice. It is absurd to urge its precepts to you if 
they themselves pay no deference to its authority. And 
surely a member of this state cannot pretend to a regard for 
justice, who seeks industriously for every argument against 
us, never for those which may be urged in our favor. Con- 
sider, I conjure you, why, among the Byzantines, there is no 
man to inform them that they are not to seize Chalcedon, 
which is really the king's ; which you some time possessed ; 
but to which they have no sort of claim : that they should not 
attempt to reduce Sylembria to their subjection, a city once 
united in alliance with us : that in assuming a power of deter- 
mining the boundaries of the Syiembrian territory, the By- 



156 MODULATION. 

zantines violate their oaths, they infringe those treaties which 
say expressly that this people shall be governed by their own 
laws. Why, during the life of Mausolus, or since his death, 
hath no one been found to inform Artemisia that she is not to 
possess herself of Cos, of Rhodes, of many other Grecian 
states, which the king, who was master of them, ceded by 
treaty to the Greeks, and for which the Greeks of those days 
encountered many dangers, supported many noble contests ! 
Or, were -these things thus urged to both, that they would 
have any influence, is by no means probable.— I, on my part, 
see no injustice in reinstating the people of Rhodes ; but, even 
if it were not strictly just, yet when I view the actions of 
others, I think it my duty to recommend this measure. And 
why ? Because, if all others confined themselves within the 
bounds of justice, it would be shameful that you, Athenians, 
should be the only people to transgress. But when every 
other state seeks all opportunities of acting injuriously, that 
you alone should give up every advantage, from pretended 
scruples, and nice distinctions of right, this is not justice, but 
cowardice. 



Extract 7. — My advice is this : that you should be arrang- 
ed in your classes ; and that, by one and the same regula- 
tion, you should be entitled to receive, and obliged to act. 
Of these things I have spoken on former occasions, and ex- 
plained the manner in which our infantry, our cavalry, in 
which those who are exempt from military service may be 
all duly regulated, and all receive their stipends fully. But 
that which of all things gives me the most melancholy appre- 
hensions I shall here declare without disguise. Many, and no- 
ble, and important are the objects which should command 
your attention : yet no man hath the least respect to any one 
of them ; all attend solely to the wretched pittance you dis- 



EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 157 

tribute. Such a pittance, then, they must confess, is adequate 
to their desert : but a just attention to the objects I have men- 
tioned must have consequences more valuable than all the 
wealth of Persia — the exact regulation and appointment of a 
state like this, possessed of so great an infantry, of such a 
navy, of such a cavalry, of such revenues. 

It may have been already asked, Athenians, (not by the 
majority of this assembly, but by certain persons who would 
burst with vexation should these measures be pursued), " What 
real advantage have we derived from the speeches of Demos- 
thenes ? He rises when he thinks proper : he deafens us 
with his harangues : he declaims against the degeneracy of 
present times ; he tell us of the virtues of our ancestors : 
he transports us by his airy extravagance : he puffs up our 
vanity; and then sits down." — But could these my speeches 
once gain an effectual influence on your minds, so great would 
be the advantages conferred on my country, that were I to 
attempt to speak them they would appear to many as visionary. 
Yet still I must assume the merit of doing some service by ac- 
customing you to hear salutary truths: and if your coun- 
sellors be solicitous for any point of moment to their country, 
let them first cure your ears, for they are distempered : and 
this, from the inveterate habit of listening to fasehoods, to 
everything rather than your real interests. 

Thus it lately happened— let no man interrupt me ; let me 
have a patient hearing — that some persons broke into the 
treasury. The speakers all instantly exclaimed, " Our free 
constitution is overturned : our laws are no more." And 
now, ye men of Athens, judge if I speak with reason. They 
who are guilty of this crime justly deserve to die ; but by such 
offenders our constitution is not overturned. Again, some 
oars have been stolen from our arsenal. — " Stripes and tor- 
tures for the villain ! Our constitution is subverted." This 
is the general cry. But what is my opinion ? This criminal, 
like the others, hath deserved to die : but, if some are crimi- 

14 



158 MODULATION. 

nal, our constitution is not therefore subverted. There is no 
man who dares openly and boldly to declare in what case our 
constitution is subverted. But I shall declare it. When you, 
Athenians, become a helpless rabble, without conduct, without 
property, without arms, without order, without unanimity; 
when neither general nor any other person hath the least re- 
spect for your decrees. ( •• ) When no man dares to inform you 
of this your condition, to urge the necessary reformation, much 
less to exert his efforts to effect it, (°) then is your constitution 
subverted ; ( 00 ) and this is now the case. 



Extract 8.-— Philip himself, amid all his insinuations against 
others, never once accuses me. Hear his own letter to the 
state.* 

THE LETTER. 

" Philip, king of Macedon, to the senate and people of 
Athens, health : 

" I have received three of your citizens in quality of am- 
bassadors, who have conferred with me about the dismission 
of certain ships commanded by Leodamas. I cannot but con- 
sider it as an extraordinary instance of weakness, to imagine 
that I can possibly believe that these ships were destined to 
import corn from the Hellespont for Lemnos ; and that they 
were not really sent to the relief of the Selymbrians now be- 
sieged by me, and who were by no means included in the 
treaty of pacification by which we stand mutually engaged. 
Such were the orders your officer received, not from the peo- 
ple of Athens, but from certain magistrates, and others in no 
private station, who are by all means solicitous to prevail on 
the people to violate their engagements, and to commence 
hostilities against me. This they have much more at heart 

* The speaker should read this letter from a written copy, 



EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 159 

than the relief of Selymbria, fondly imagining that they may 
derive advantages from such a rupture. Persuaded as I am 
that our mutual interest requires us to frustrate their wicked 
schemes, I have given orders that the vessels brought in to us 
be immediately released. For the future, let it be your part 
to remove those pernicious counsellors from the administra- 
tion of your affairs, and to let them feel the severity of your 
justice, and I shall endeavour to adhere inviolably to my 
treaty. Farewell !" 

Here is no mention of Demosthenes, no charge against me. 
And whence is it, that in all his acrimony against others, 
he takes not the least notice of my conduct ? Because he 
must have brought his own usurpations full into view had he 
mentioned me. On these I fixed ; and these I obstinately op- 
posed. I instantly moved for an embassy to Peloponnesus, 
the moment he had entered Peloponneses. I then moved for 
an embassy to Eubcea, as soon as he had landed in Euboea. 
Then did I propose the expedition (not an embassy) to Oreum, 
and that to Eretria, as soon as he had stationed his govern- 
ors in these cities. After this did I send out those armaments 
which saved the Chersonesus and Byzantium, and all our con- 
federates, from which this state derived the noblest conse- 
quences, applause, glory, honors, crowns, thanks, from those 
who had received such important services. And even of 
those who had injured us, such as on this occasion yielded to 
your remonstrances, found effectual security : they who neg- 
lected them had only the sad remembrance of your repeated 
warnings, and the conviction that you were not only their 
best friends, but men of true discernment, of a prophetic spir- 
it ; for in every instance the event proved exactly consonant 
to your predictions. 

That Philistides would have gladly given the greatest 
sums to have kept Oreum ; that Clitarchus would have given 
largely to have kept Eretria ; that Philip himself would have 
given largely that he might possess stations so convenient for 



160 MODULATION. 

annoying us ; and that all his other actions should pass unno- 
ticed, all his injurious proceedings unimpeached, cannot be 
secret to any man ; but least of all to you. You, iEschines, 
received the deputies sent hither by Clitarchus and Philistides ; 
by you were they entertained. Those whom we drove from 
us as enemies, as men whose overtures were neither consis- 
tent with justice nor with the interest of Athens, were your 
dearest friends. How false and groundless, then, are your 
malicious accusations ! You, who say that I am silent when 
I get my bribe, clamorous when I have spent it. — Your case 
is different : you are clamorous when you receive your bribe ; 
and your clamours can never cease — unless this day's decision 
should silence them effectually by the justly-merited infamy. 



Extract 9. — That I have pursued the true interest of the 
state, that I have on all occasions discovered a warm affection 
and a zealous alacrity in your service, I trust hath been es- 
tablished already, with the clearest evidence. I have indeed 
omitted the most important parts of my administration, the 
greatest of my services ; both because I deem it incumbent on 
me to proceed to my defence against the charge of violating 
the laws ; and because I am convinced your own consciences 
must bear the amplest testimony in my favour, although I 
should be totally silent as to the other parts of my conduct. 

As to what he hath urged, with such confusion and embar- 
rassment, about his authentic transcripts of the laws, Heaven 
is my witness, that I am convinced you could not comprehend 
it : and to me it is, for the most part, utterly unintelligible. 
But my course shall be more ingenuous and direct. I shall 
lay before you the plain dictates of truth and equity. Far 
from asserting that I am not accountable to the public, as he 
hath repeatedly insinuated and affirmed, I here declare that 
through my whole life I must ever stand accountable for every 



EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 161 

trust which [ have executed, every measure which I have di- 
rected. But for what I have freely expended of my private 
fortune in the service of the public I cannot at any time be 
liable to account. (Observe me, ^Eschines !) No ! nor any 
other citizen, were he the first of our magistrates. For where 
is that law so pregnant with injustice and inhumanity as to rob 
the man of all his merit whose fortune has been expended for 
the state, whose public spirit and munificence have been dis- 
played in some important instance ? To expose him to the 
malice of informers ? To give them a power to scrutinize his 
bounty ? There can be no such law ! If there be, let him 
produce it, and I shall submit in silence. No, my countrymen, 
he cannot ! 

" But," saith the sycophant, u the senate hath conferred 
public honors on him, while his accounts were yet to be ap- 
proved, under the pretence of some additional disbursements 
from his own fortune, when manager of the theatrical funds." 
— Not for any part of that conduct which stood accountable ; 
but for those additional disbursements, thou sycophant ! — 
" But you were director of our fortifications." — Yes ; and on 
that occasion was entitled to my honors ; for I expended more 
than the state had granted, without charging this addition to 
the public. Where a charge is made the accounts must be 
examined ; but where a free gift is conferred, favor and ap- 
plause are the natural and just returns. This decree of Ctesi- 
phon in my favor is, therefore, strictly warranted. It is a 
point determined, not by the laws only, but by our constant 
usage. 



Extract 10. — They who are thrown into all this confusion, 
from an opinion that the Thebans are gained over to the in- 
terests of Philip, seem to me entirely ignorant of the present 
state of affairs. Were this the case, I am convinced you 

14* 



162 MODULATION. 

would now hear, not that he was at Elatea, but on our very- 
frontier. His intent (I clearly see it) in seizing this post is to 
facilitate his schemes in Thebes. Attend, and I shall now ex- 
plain the circumstances of that state. Those of its citizens 
whom his gold could corrupt, or his artifice deceive are all at 
his devotion ; those who at first opposed and continue to op- 
pose him he finds incapable of being wrought on. What then 
is his design? Why hath he seized Elatea ? That by draw- 
ing up his forces and displaying his powers on the borders of 
Thebes he may inspire his adherents with confidence and ele- 
vation, and strike such terror into his adversaries that fear or 
force may drive them into those measures they have hitherto 
opposed. If, then, we are resolved in this conjuncture to 
cherish the remembrance of every unkindness we may have 
received from the Thebans, — if we regard them with suspi- 
cion, as men who have ranged themselves on the side of our 
enemy,— we shall, in the first place, act agreeably to Philip's 
warmest wishes ; and then I am apprehensive that the party 
who now oppose him may be brought over to his interest, 
the whole city declare unanimously in his favor, and Thebes 
and Macedon fall with their united force on Attica. Grant 
the due attention to what I shall propose ; let it be calmly 
weighed, without dispute or cavil, and I doubt not but that my 
counsels may direct you to the best and most salutary mea- 
sures, and dispel the dangers now impending over the state. 
What then do I propose? First shake off that terror which 
hath possessed your minds, and, instead of fearing for your- 
selves, fear for the Thebans ; they are more immediately ex- 
posed, and must be the first to feel the danger. In the next 
place, let all those of the age for military service, both infan- 
try and cavalry, march instantly to Eleusis, that Greece may 
see that you too are assembled in arms ; and your friends in 
Thebes be emboldened to assert their rights, when they are 
assured, that as they who have sold their country to the Mace- 
donian have a force at Elatea to support them, you too stand 



EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 163 

prepared to support their antagonists. 1 recommend it, in the 
last place, that you nominate ten ambassadors, who, with the 
generals, shall have full authority to determine the time and 
all other circumstances of this march. When these ambas- 
sadors shall arrive at Thebes, how are they to conduct this 
great affair ? This is a point worthy your most serious atten- 
tion. Make no demands at all of the Thebans : at this junc- 
ture it would be dishonorable. Assure them that your forces 
are ready, and but wait their orders to march to their support ; 
as you are deeply affected by their danger, and have been so 
happy as to foresee and to guard against it. If they are pre- 
vailed on to embrace ihese overtures, we shall effectuate our 
great purpose, and act with a dignity worthy of our state ; but 
should it happen that we are not so successful, whatever mis- 
fortunes they may suffer, to themselves they shall be imputed ; 
while your conduct shall appear in no one instance inconsis- 
tent with the honor and renown of Athens. 



Extract 11. — To you, my hearers, I appeal for the truth 
of what I now deliver : we commanded but the islands; and 
not all of these ; only the weakest of them. Neither Chios, 
nor Rhodes, nor Corcyra were then ours. Of our finances, 
the amount was forty-five talents ; and even this sum had been 
anticipated. Of infantry and cavalry, except those w 7 ithin our 
walls, we had not any ; and, what was the circumstance most 
alarming, and most favorable to our enemies, their artifices 
had been so effectual, that the adjacent states, Megara, Thebes, 
Euboea, were all inclined to hostilities rather than an alliance 
with us. Such was the situation of our affairs. It cannot be 
denied ; it cannot be at all controverted. And now consider 
those of Philip our antagonist. In the first place, his power 
over all his followers was absolute and uncontrolled ; the first 
great necessary article in war. Then, their arms were ever 



164 MODULATION. 

in their hands. Again, his finances were in the most flourish- 
ing condition. In all his motions he consulted only with him- 
self : he did not announce them by decrees ; he did not con- 
cert them in a public assembly ; he was not exposed to false 
accusers ; he \v r as not to guard against impeachments ; he 
was not to submit his conduct to examination ; but was in all 
things absolutely lord, leader, and governor. To this man 
was I opposed. It is but just that you consider my circum- 
stances. What did I command ? Nothing. I had but the 
right of audience in our assemblies ; a right which you grant- 
ed to his hirelings equally with me : and as often as they pre- 
vailed against my remonstrances (and oftentimes did they thus 
prevail, on various pretences) were you driven to resolutions 
highly favorable to the enemy. Loaded with all these diffi- 
culties, I yet brought over to your alliance the Eubosans, 
Achseans, Corinthians, Thebans, Magareans, Leucaclians, 
Corcyreans. And thus did we collect fifteen hundred foot, 
and two thousand horse, exclusive of our own citizens. And 
thus were our finances enlarged by as ample subsidies as I 
could raise. 

If you insist on what contingents should strictly have been 
required from the Thebans, or from the Byzantines, or from 
the Euboeans ; if you talk of dividing the burden of the war 
in exact proportion ; I must, in the first place, inform you, 
that when the united fleet was drawn out to defend the inter- 
ests of Greece the whole number of ships amounted to three 
hundred ; and of these two hundred were supplied by Athens. 
Nor did we think ourselves aggrieved ; nor did we prosecute 
those who had advised it; nor did we discover any marks of 
discontent. That would have been shameful. No ; we thank- 
ed the gods, that when all Greece was threatened with immi- 
nent danger, we were enabled to give twice as much assist- 
ance to the common cause as* any other state. And then — 
little is the public favor which your malicious invectives against 
me can gain. For why do you now tell us what we should 



EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 165 

have done ? Were you not then in the city ? Were you not 
in the assembly ? Why did you not propose your scheme? 
if it suited the circumstances of affairs ? For here was the 
point to be considered ; what these circumstances admitted, 
not what our wishes might suggest. Had we once rejected 
the alliance of any people, there was one ready to purchase 
them — to bid much higher for them — to receive them with 
open arms. And, if my conduct is now questioned, what if, 
by any exact and scrupulous demands, in my stipulations with 
the several states, they had withdrawn their forces, and united 
with our enemy; and thus Philip had been master of Eubcea, 
Thebes, and Byzantium ? — how busy would these impious 
men have then been — how violent in their clamours ? Must 
they not have cried out, that we had rejected these states ? 
That we had driven them from us, when they were courting 
our alliance ? That Philip was confirmed sovereign of the 
Hellespont by the Byzantines ? That the whole corn trade 
of Greece was at his disposal ? That Thebes had enabled 
him to push the war to our very confines ? That it had fallen 
with all its weight on Attica ? That the sea was impassable ; 
for that corsairs were perpetually issuing from Euboea ? — 
Should we not have heard all this and more ? — A false accu- 
ser, my countrymen, is a monster, a dangerous monster, quer- 
ulous, and industrious in seeking pretences of complaint. And 
such is the very nature of this fox in human shape, a stranger 
to every thing good and liberal ; this theatrical ape, this strol- 
ling player, this blundering haranguer ! — For of what use is 
this your vehemence to the public ? — do you waste it on trans- 
actions long since past ? Just as if a physician should visit 
his infirm and distempered patients, should never speak, never 
prescribe the means of expelling their disorders ; but when 
one of them had died, and the last offices were performing to 
his remains, to march after to the grave, and there pronounce 
with all solemnity, " if this man had proceeded thus, and thus, 
he would not have died." Infatuated wretch ! and dost thou 
vouchsafe to speak at last ? 



166 MODULATION. 

Extract 12. — We have heard his encomiums on the great 
characters of former times : and they are worthy of them. 
Yet it is by no means just, Athenians, to take advantage of 
your predilection to the deceased, and to draw the parallel be- 
tween them and me, who live among you. Who knows not 
that all men, while they yet live, must endure some share of 
envy, more or less? But the dead are not hated even by 
their enemies. And, if this be the usual and natural course of 
things, shall I be tried — shall I be judged by a comparison 
with my predecessors ? No,iEschines; this would be neith- 
er just nor equitable. Compare me with yourself — with any, 
the very best of your party, and our contemporaries. Consid- 
er whether it be nobler and better for the state to make the 
benefits received from our ancestors, great and exalted as they 
are, beyond all expression great, a pretence for treating pre- 
sent benefactors with ingratitude and contempt ; or to grant a 
due share of honor and regard to every man who, at any time, 
approves his attachment to the public. — And yet, if I may 
hazard the assertion, the whole tenor of my conduct must ap- 
pear, on a fair inquiry, similar to that which the famed char- 
acters of old times pursued, and founded on the same princi- 
ples ; while you have as exactly imitated the malicious accu- 
sers of these great men : for it is well known, that in those 
times men were found to malign all living excellence, and to 
lavish their insidious praises on the dead, with the same base 
artifice which you have practised — You say, then, that I do 
not in the least resemble those great characters. And do you 
resemble them ? or your brother ? Do any of the present 
speakers ? I name none among them : I urge but this : let 
the living, thou man of candour, be compared with the living, 
and with those of the same department. 

There are two distinguishing qualities, Athenians, which 
the virtuous citizen should ever possess — (I speak in general 
terms, as the least invidious method of doing justice to myself) ; 



EXTRACTS FROM DEMOSTHENES. 167 

—a zeal for the honor and pre-eminence of the state in his of- 
ficial conduct ; on all occasions, and in all transactions, an af- 
fection for his country. This nature can bestow. Abilities 
and success depend on another power. And in this affection 
you find me firm and invariable. Not the solemn demand of 
my person ; not the vengeance of the amphictyonic council, 
which they denounced against me ; not the terror of their 
threatenings ; not the flattery of their promises ; no, nor the 
fury of those accursed wretches whom they roused like wild 
beasts against me could ever tear this affection from my breast. 
From first to last, I have uniformly pursued the just and vir- 
tuous course of conduct ; assertor of the honors, of the prero- 
gatives, of the glory of rny country ; studious to support them, 
zealous to advance them, my whole being is devoted to this 
glorious cause. I was never known to march through the 
city with a face of joy and exultation at the success of a for- 
eign power ; embracing and announcing the joyful tidings to 
those who, I supposed, would transmit it to the proper place. 
I was never known to receive the successes of my own coun- 
try with tremblings, with sighings, with eyes bending to the 
earth, like those impious men who are the defamers of the 
state, as if by such conduct they were not defamers of them- 
selves : who look abroad, and, when a foreign potentate hath 
established his power on the calamities [of Greece, applaud 
the event, and tell us we should take every means to perpet- 
uate his power. 

Hear me, ye immortal gods ! and let not these their desires 
be ratified in heaven ! Infuse a better spirit into these 
men ! Inspire even their minds with purer sentiments ? — 
This is my first prayer. — Or, if their natures are not to be re- 
formed ; on them, on them only discharge your vengeance ! 
Pursue them both by land and sea ! Pursue them even to 
destruction ! But to us display your goodness in a speedy de- 
liverance from impending evils, and all the blessings of pro- 
tection and tranquillity ! 



168 MODULATION. 

Boldness of our Saviour. — J. Abbott. 
The delivery of the sermon on the Mount is probably the 
most striking example of moral courage, which the world has 
ever seen. There are two circumstances, which render the 
occasion on which it was delivered extraordinary. First, it 
was a very public occasion. A vast multitude from almost 
every part of the country were assembled. Judea the southern 
province, and Gallilee the northern, were represented ; so 
were the eastern and western shores of the river Jordan, and 
many distant cities and towns. From all this wide extent of 
country a vast multitude, attracted by the fame of our Sa- 
viour's miracles, had assembled to hear what this professed 
messenger from heaven had to say. Again it was probably, 
though not certainly, a very early occasion. Perhaps the first 
on which the great principles of the gospel were to be announ- 
ced to men by this discourse, containing, as it does, so plain 
and specific an exposition of the false notions of religion then 
prevailing. The Saviour must have known, that he was lay- 
ing the foundation of that enmity which was to result in his 
destruction. But did he shrink ? Did he hold back ? Did 
he conceal or cover over one single obnoxious feature of the 
truth ? He knew that the report of that meeting must be 
spread to every part of the country. As he looked around upon 
his auditory, he must have seen, here, one from Gallilee, there, 
another from beyond the Jordan, and again a third, who would 
carry his report to distant Jerusalem, and yet, thus completely 
exposed, instead of attempting to soften or conceal, he brought 
out all the distinctive features of prevailing error, and con- 
trasted them with the pure principles of his spiritual religion 
with a plainness and a point, which was exactly calculated to 
fix them in memory, and to circulate them most widely 
throughout the land. It was always so. The plainness, the 
point, the undaunted boldness, with which he exposed hypoc- 
risy and sin, and the clear simplicity with which he held up to 



SOULS NEVER DIE. 169' 

view the principles of real piety have no parallel. And yet 
he knew perfectly well, that in direct consequence of these 
things a dark storm was gathering, which must burst in all its 
fury upon his unsheltered head. But the enterprising and de- 
termined spirit with which Christ entered into his work, was 
not satisfied with his own personal exertions. He formed the 
extraordinary plan of sending out simultaneously, a number 
of his most cordial friends and followers, to assist in making 
the most extensive, and powerful impression possible on the 
community. At first he sent twelve, then seventy, who went 
every where, presenting to men the simple duties of repent- 
ance for the past, and of pure and holy lives for the future*. 
There could not have been measures more admirably adapted 
to accomplish the work he had to do. And they succeeded.. 
In two or three years it was done. And every Christian, who- 
has work to do for his Master here, should learn a lesson from 
the enterprise and system and energy which Jesus Christ ex- 
hibited in doing his great work. 



Souls never die. — Dana. 

(°) And doth Death cancel the great bond, that holds 
Commingling spirits ? Are thoughts, that know no bounds,. 
But, self-inspired, rise upward, searching out 
The Eternal Mind — the Father of all thought — 
Are they become mere tenants of a tomb ? — 
Dwellers in darkness, who the illuminate realms 
Of uncreated light have visited, and lived ? — 
Lived in the dreadful splendor of that throne, 
Which One, with gentle hand, the vail of flesh 
Lifting, that hung 'twixt man and it, revealed 
In glory? — throne, before which, even now, 
Our souls, moved by prophetic power, bow down,. 
Rejoicing, yet at their own natures awed ? 
15 



170 MODULATION. 

Souls, that Thee know by a mysterious sense, 
Thou awful, unseen Presence, are they quenched, 
Or burn they on, hid from our mortal eyes 
By that bright day which ends not ; as the sun 
His robes of light flings round the glittering stars ? 

And with our frames do perish all our loves ? 
Do those that took their root, and put forth buds, 
And their soft leaves unfolded, in the warmth 
Of mutual hearts, grow up and live in beauty, 
Then fade and fall, like fair unconscious flowers ? 
Are thoughts and passions, that to the tongue give speech, 
And make it send forth winning harmonies, — 
That to the cheek do give its living glow, 
And vision in the eye the soul intense 
With that for which there is no utterance, — 
Are these the body's accidents ? — no more ? — 
To live in it, and, when that dies, go out 
Like the burnt taper's flame ? 

O listen, man ! 
A voice within us speaks that startling word, 
( )" Man, thou shalt never die 1" Celestial voices 
Hymn it unto our souls : according harps, 
By angel fingers touched, when the mild stars 
Of morning sang together, sound forth still 
The song of our great immortality : 
Thick-clustering orbs, and this our fair domain, 
The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas, 
Join in this solemn, universal song. 
(°) O listen, ye, our spirits ; drink it in 
From all the air.. 'Tis in the gentle moonlight ; 
'Tis floating midst Day's setting glories ; Night, 
Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step 
Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears ; 
Night, and the dawn, bright day, and thoughtful eve, 



171 



All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse, 

As one vast mystic instrument, are touched 

By an unseen, living Hand, and conscious chords 

Quiver with joy in this great jubilee. 

The dying hear it : and, as sounds of earth 

Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls 

To mingle in this heavenly harmony. 



The Patriot's Wish — C. Spragtje. 
( c ) Ye dwellers of this spot, 



Be yours a noiseless and a guiltless lot. 
I plead not that ye bask 
In the rank beams of vulgar fame ; 

To light your steps I ask 
A purer and a holier flame. 

No bloating growth I supplicate for you, 

No pining multitude, no pampered few ; 
'Tis not alone to coffer gold, 
Nor spreading borders to behold ; 
'Tis not fast-swelling crowds to win, 
The refuse ranks of want and sin — 

This be the kind decree : 
Be ye by goodness crowned, 
Eevered, though not renowned ; 
Poor, if Heaven will, but free ; 
Free from the tyrants of the hour, 
The clans of wealth, the clans of power, 
The coarse, cold scorners of their God ; 
Free from the taint of sin, 
The leprosy that feeds within, 

( )And free, in mercy, from the bigot's rod. 



172 MODULATION. 

(°) The sceptre's might, the crosier's pride, 

Ye do not fear ; 
No conquest blade, in life-blood dyed, 

Drops terror here : 
Let there not lurk a subtler snare, 
For wisdom's footsteps to beware : 
The shackle and the stake 

Our father's fled ; 
Ne'er may their children wake 
A fouler wrath, a deeper dread ; 
Ne'er may the craft, that fears the flesh to bind, 
Lock its hard fetters on the mind ; 
Quenched be the fiercer flame 
That kindles with a name ; 
The pilgrim's faith, the pilgrim's zeal, 
Let more than pilgrim kindness seal ; 
Be purity of life the test ; 
Leave to the heart, to Heaven, the rest. 

So, when our children turn the page, 

To ask what triumphs marked our age, 

What we achieved to challenge praise, 

Through the long line of future days, 
This let them read, and hence instruction draw : 

( •• ) c< Here were the many blessed, 

Here found the virtues rest, 
Faith linked with love, and liberty with law ; 

Here industry to comfort led ; 

Her book of light here learning spread ; 
Here the warm heart of youth 

Was wooed to temperance and to truth ; 
Here hoary age was found, 

By wisdom and by reverence crowned. 
No great, but guilty fame 
Here kindled pride, that should have kindled shame. 



XERXES. 173 

These chose the better, happier part, 
That poured its sunlight o'er the heart, 
That crowned their homes with peace and health, 
And weighed Heaven's smile beyond earth's wealth ; 
Far from the thorny paths of strife 
They stood, a living lesson to their race, 

Rich in the charities of life, 
Man in his strength, and woman in her grace ; 
In purity and love their pilgrim road they trod, 
( •• ) And, when they served their neighbor, felt they served 
their G6d." 



Xerxes. — Jewsbury. 

I saw him on the battle-eve, 

When like a king he bore him ; 
Proud hosts in glittering helm and greave, 

And prouder chiefs before him : 
(°) The warrior, and the warrior's deeds — 
The morrow, and the morrow's meeds, — 

No daunting thoughts came o'er him ; 
He looked around him, and his eye 
Defiance flashed to earth and sky. 

He looked on ocean ; its broad breast 

Was covered with his fleet 5 — 
On earth ; and saw from east to west, 

His bannered millions meet ; — 
(°°) While rock, and glen, and cave, and coast, 
Shook with the war-cry of that host, 

The thunder of their feet ! 
He heard the imperial echoes ring,— 
He heard, and felt himself a king. 
15* 



174 MODULATION. 

( •• ) I saw him next alone : — nor camp, 
Nor chief, his steps attended ; 

Nor banner blazed, nor courser's tramp 
With war-cries proudly blended. 

He stood alone, whom Fortune high 

So lately seemed to deify ; 

He, who with Heaven contended, 

(=) Fled like a fugitive and slave ! 

( •• ) Behind, — the foe ; — before,— the wave. 

He stood, — fleet, army, treasure, — gone, — 

Alone and in despair ! 
(<Q But wave and wind swept ruthless on, 

For they were monarchs there ; 
And Xerxes, in a single bark, 
Where late his thousand ships were dark, 

Must all their fury dare : — . 
What a revenge — a trophy, this — 
For thee, immortal Salamis ! 



Adam. — Jewsbury. 

Creations heir ! — the first, the last, 

That knew the world his own; — 
Yet stood he, mid his kingdom vast, 

A fugitive — o'erthrown ! 
Faded and frail his glorious form, 

And changed his soul within, 
( ) Whilst Fear and Sorrow, Strife and Storm, 

Told the dark secret — Sin! 

Unaided and alone on earth, 

He bade the heavens give ear ; — 

( ) But every star that sang his birth. 
Kept silence in its sphere : 



ADAM. 175 

He saw, round Eden's distant steep, 

Angelic legions stray ; — 
( — ) Alas ! he knew them sent to keep 

His guilty foot away. 

(°) Then, reckless, turned he to his own, — 

The world before him spread ; — 
( — ) But Nature's was an altered tone, 

And breathed rebuke and dread : 
«) Fierce thunder-peal, and rocking gale, 

Answered the storm-swept sea, 
Whilst crashing forests joined the wail ; 

( ) And all said — "Cursed for thee." 

This, spoke the lion's prowling roar, 

And this, the victim's cry ; 
This, written in defenceless gore, 

Forever met his eye : 
And not alone each sterner power 

Proclaimed just heaven's decree, — 
The faded leaf, the dying flower, 

( •• ) Alike said— " Cursed for thee." 

Though mortal, doomed to many a length 

Of life's now narrow span, 
Sons rose around in pride and strength ;— 

( ) They, too, proclaimed the ban. 
«) 'Twas heard, amid their hostile spears, 

Seen, in the murderer's doom, 
(— ) Breathed, from the widow's silent tears, 

( ) Felt, in the infant's tomb. 

Ask not the wanderer's after-fate^ 

His being, birth, or name, — 
Enough that all have shared his state, 

That man is still the same. 



176 MODULATION. 

Still briar and thorn his life o'ergrow, 
Still strives his soul within ; 

Whilst Care, and Pain, and Sorrow show 
( ) The same dark secret — Sin. 



" Thy History" — Montgomery. 

Once, in the flight of ages past, 

There lived a man : — and who was he ? — 
Mortal, howe'er thy lot be cast, 
' That man resembled thee. 

Unknown the region of his birth ; 

The land in which he died unknown ; 
His name has perished from the earth ; 

This truth survives alone : 

That joy and grief, and hope and fear, 
Alternate, triumphed in his breast ; 

His bliss and wo, — a smite, a tear : 
( ) Oblivion hides the rest. 

(°) The bounding pulse, the languid limb, 
The changing spirits' rise and fall, — 

We know that these were felt by him, 
For these are felt by all. 

He suffered, ( — ) but his pangs are o'er ; 

Enjoyed, ( — ) but his delights are fled ; 
Had friends, ( — ) his friends are now no more ; 

And foes, (~) his foes are dead. 

He loved,— but whom he loved, the grave 
Hath lost in its unconscious womb : 

Oh ! she was fair ; but nought could save 
Her beauty from the tomb. 



AN OCEAN STORM. 177 



He saw whatever thou hast seen ; 

Encountered all that troubles thee : 
He was whatever thou hast been : 

( ) He is what thou shalt be. 



An Ocean Storm. — W. Read. 

The sun went down in splendor ;— as he went, 
A crimson glory streaked the Occident, 
Lingering like hope ; the clouds were floating, bright 
As ruby islands in a sea of light ; — 
Awhile they wore all hues — then wavering, weak, 
Waned like the blush that warms a virgin's cheek, 
Till all were lost. Then Twilight drew her hood, 
Dropped with pale stars ; and scowling Darkness stood, 
Like a dim spectre, on the eastern hill, 
Vestured in elouds, and lingering there until 
His hour was come. Then sobbing gusts plained by ; — 
The vexed wave flung its silver crest on high ; — 
The sea-gull shrieked on rapid-wheeling wing ; — 
( )The steed pricked up his ear, as hearkening 
To far, far sounds, (=) neighed, (||) started, (||) tossed his head. 
( •• ) Then bounding off, gazed fierce and spirited ; 
The watch-dog bayed ; the patient steer drew nigh — 
There was a calm petition in his eye ; 
Unsocial birds forsook the wild woods far 
And pecked and fluttered at the lattice bar : — 
Nought breathed untroubled. 

(^>) Now faint, and far, comes on the wail of death — 
Heard as the tempest seems to pause for breath ; 
And now the sheeted lightning glares upon 
A peopled deck, that idly hopes to shun 



178 MODULATION. 

Those ambushed banks o'er which the breakers rave— 

(°) A crash ! — a shriek ! The ocean is their grave ! 

Would that one victim might appease the blast ! 

Ah*no !— the cry of death is deepening fast ; 

And minute-guns, above the surging swell, 

Boom on the gale the Pilot's passing-bell ! 

( — ) And there be some to whom this morning's sun 

Revealed the cliffs their thoughts had dwelt upon 

Through exiled years ; and bade, all peril past, 

The warm heart hail its native hills at last ! — 

As fair to-morrow's sun those hills may greet, 

But then the surf shall be their winding-sheet! 

And there be others struggling with the spite 

Of warring elements, whose souls were bright 

To mark, at evening's close, the little space 

Which but delayed Affection's bland embrace ; 

And now they roll the aching eye-ball round 

And meet but death — the drowning and the drowned : 

Flash courses flash! the war-ship's mast is shivered — 
Smote by the cloudsped bolt that o'er it quivered ! 
A broader flame the midnight blackness broke — 
Her magazine receives the thunder-stroke, 
And fires that vault, which stars no longer pave, 
As though a Sun were bursting from the wave ! 
Bewildering, giddy glare ! The echoes reel 
From cliff to cliff, replying to the peal 
That red explosion rang along the sky ; 

A crowded skiff was laboring for the land — 

The wreck they fled drove mastless and unmanned ; 

Bold the attempt, but fruitless, to elude 

The swiftly-rolling billows that pursued. 

Their bark had rubbed the sand, but failed to reach 

Ere mountain waves broke o'er it on the beach, 



THE RETURNED EAST-INDIA MAN. 179 

And dashed them to the earth : — they rise — they spring — 

Vain as the wounded plover's fluttering ! 

For oh ! as if some sea-fiend mocked their toil, 

The big wave caught them in its swift recoil. 

One youth was left — the lightning as it sped 

Showed those who baulked the Sea-dog of the dead,: — 

Fling forth the coil he shivering grasped — and now, 

While some shade back the tangle from his brow, 

An age-worn man that freezing eye surveys,. 

Where life late played — alas no longer plays ! 

Smites his scathed breast — and cries (in tones which speak 

The heart's last burst of anguish ere it break) — 

(V) ' How have I sighed to hail thy wanderings done — 

And meet we thus at last — my son ! my son V 



The returned East-Indiaman.—W '. Read. 

An anxious, lingering, perilous voyage past, 

An India ship hailed Albion's land at last ! 

Moored in the Downs, her mighty pinions close 

Like some far flying bird that seeks repose ; 

While, crowding on the deck, a hundred eyes 

Turned shoreward — flashed with pleasure and surprise. 

A gorgeous freight that broad-sailed vessel bore — 

The blazing diamonds and the blushing ore ; 

Spices that sighed their incense, till the sails 

Were fanned along on aromatic gales 

From Orient lands. Then marvel not if he 

Who there is Chief should look exullingly 

Back on the storms he baffled, and should know 

The bosom's warmest wildest overflow 

While gazing on the land, which laughed before him — 

The smooth sea round — the blue pavilion o'er him ! 



180 MODULATION. 

There was a day of banqueting on board ; 
And swan-winged barks, and barges many-oared 
Came crowded to the feast. The young — the gay — 
The beautiful were there. Right merrily 
The pleasure boats glide onward ; — with swift prow 
The clear wave curling, till around each bow, 
With frequent flash, the bright and feathery spray 
Threw mimic rainbows at the sun in play. 
The ship is won, the silken chair is lowered — 
Exulting Youth and Beauty bound on board ; 
And, while they wondering gaze on sail and shroud, 
The flag flaps o'er them like a crimson cloud. 

An ample awning spread its purple bloom 

To canopy the guests ; and vases, wreathed 

With deep-hued flowers and foilage, sweetly breathed 

Their incense, fresh as zephyrs when they rove 

Among the blossoms of a citron grove ; 

In short, some magic seemed to sway the hour, 

The wand-struck deck becomes an orient bower ! 

The pendant orange from a lush of leaves, 

Hangs like Hesperian gold ; and, tied in sheaves, 

Carnations prop their triple coronals ; 

The grape, out-peeping from thick foliage, falls 

Like clustered amethysts in deep festoons ; 

And shells are scattered round, which Indian moons 

Had sheeted with the silver of their beams ; 

Eve darkened down — and yet they were not gone ; 
The sky had changed, ( ) the sudden storm came on ! 
Now dizzily the thick surf scattered o'er them ; 
And dim and distant loomed the land before them ; 
No longer firm — the eternal hills did leave 
Their solid rest, and heaved, or seemed to heave. 
O, 'twas an awful moment ! — for the crew 
Had rashly, deeply drank, while yet they knew 



THE RETURNED EAST-INDIAMAN. 181 

No ruling eye was on them — and became 

(==) Wild as the tempest ! Peril could not tame — 

Nay, stirred their brutal hearts to more excess ; 

Round the deserted banquet-board they press, 

Like men transformed to fiends, with oath and yell i 

And many deemed the sea less terrible 

Than maniacs fiercely ripe for all, or aught, 

That ever flashed upon a desperate thought ! 

Some, as a bolt had smote them, fell ; and some 

Stared haggard wild ; — dismay had struck them dumb*. 

The riot shout pealed on ; — but deep distress 

Had sunk all else in utter hopelessness! 

One only trust survives, a doubtful one — 

But O, how cherished, every other gone! 

11 While hold our cables, fear not " — As he spoke 

A sea burst o'er them, and their cables broke ! 

Then like a lion bounding from the toil, 

The ship shot through the billow's black recoil ; 

Urged by the howling blast — all guidance gone, — 

They shuddering felt her reeling, rushing on — 

Nor dared to question where ; nor dared to cast 

One asking look — for that might be their last ! 

What frowns so steep in front — a cliff? a rock ? 
The groaning vessel staggers in the shock ! 
The last shriek rings. 

Hark ! whence that voice they hear 
Loud o'er the rushing waters — loud and near ? 
Alas ! they dream ! — 'tis but the ocean roar ! — 
Oh no ! it echoes from the swarming shore ! 
Kind Heaven, thy hand was there. With swelling bound 
The vast waves heaved the giant hull aground ; 
And, ebbing with the turning tide, became, 
Like dying monsters, impotent and tame ; 
16 



182 MODULATION. 

Wedged in the sand their chafing can no more 

Than lave her sides, and deaden with their roar 

The clamorous burst of joy. But some there were 

Whose joy was voiceless as their late despair — 

Whose heaven-ward eyes, clasped hands, and streaming 

cheeks, 
Did speak a language, which the lip ne'er speaks ! 
O, he were heartless, in that passionate hour, 
Who could not feel that weakness hath its power, 
When gentle woman, sobbing and subdued, 
Breathed forth her vow of holy gratitude, 
Warm as the contrite Mary's, when — forgiven — 
An angel smiled, recording it in heaven ! 



" The Church-Yard."— H. Knowles. 
Methinks it is good to be here, 
If thou wilt let us build — but for whom ? 

Shall we build to Ambition ? ( ) Ah no ! 
Affrighted, he shrinketh away, 

For see, they would pin him below 
( •• ) In a dark narrow cave, and begirt with cold clay, 
To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey. 

To Baauty ? Ah no ! she forgets 
The charms, which She wielded before ; 
Nor knows the foul worm that he frets 
( — ) The skin that but yesterday fools could adore, 
For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it wore. 

Shall we build to the temple of Pride, 
The trappings, which dizen the proud ? 

Alas ! they are all laid aside, 
And here's neither dress nor adornment allowed 
Save the long winding-sheet and the fringe of the shroud. 



183 



To Riches ? Alas, 'tis in vain ? 
Who hid in their turns have been hid ; 

The treasures are squandered again ; 
And here in the grave are all metals forbid 
Save the tinsel that shines on the dark coffin lid. 

To the pleasures, which Mirth can afford, 
The revel, the laugh, and the jeer ? 

Ah ! here is a plentiful board ! 
But the yguests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, 
And none but the worm is a reveller here. 

Shall we build to Affection and Love ? 
Ah, no ! They have withered and died, 

Or fled with the spirit above : 
Friends, brothers and sisters, are laid side by side, 
Yet none have saluted, and none have replied. 

Unto Sorrow ? — The dead cannot grieve ; 
Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear, 

Which Compassion itself could relieve. 
Ah sweetly they slumber, nor love, hope, or fear. 
Peace ! peace ! is the watch-word, the only one here. 



" The Wife of the Brigand.— Croly." 

The wind was wild, the sea was dark, 
The lightning flashed above ; — the bark 
That anchored in the rocky bay, 
Bathed its top pennon in the spray : 
Hollow and gloomy as the grave, 
Rolled to the shore the mighty wave ; 
Then gathering wild with thundering sweep, 
Flashed in its foam-sheet up the steep : 



184 MODULATION. 

The sight was terror — but behind 
Shouts of pursuit were on the wind ; 
Trumpet, and yell, and clash of shield, 
Told where the human hunters wheeled 
Through the last valley's forest glen : 
Where, Bertha, was thy courage then ? 
She cheered her warrior, though his side 
Still with the gushing blood was dyed ; 
Up the rude mountain-path, her hand 
Sustained his arm, and dragged his brand, 
Nor shrank, nor sighed ; and when his tread 
Paused on the promontory's head, 
She smiled, although her lip was pale 
As the torn silver of his mail. 

( — ) All there was still. The shouts had past, 

Below, the vapor's dark gray screen, 

Shut out from view the long ravine ; 

Then swept the circle of the hill, 

Like billows round an ocean isle. 

The rays the parting sunbeam flung, 

In white, cold radiance on them hung ; 

They stood upon that lonely brow, 

Like spirits loosed from human wo, 

And pausing, ere they spread the plume 

Above that waste of storm and gloom. 

To linger there was death,— but there 

Was that, which masters death, — Despair 

( — ) Told, on that summit they must part — 

He was life, soul, and world to her : 

Beside him, what had she to fear ? 

Life had for her nor calm nor storm 

While she stood gazing on that form, 

And clasped his hand, though lost and lone, — 

His dying hand, — but all her own. 



THE DEAD ON THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 185 

She spoke not, sighed not, but she felt 
As o'er his palid cheek she knelt, 
And saw death's image o'er him cast, 
That life and joy from her had passed. 

( •• ) The echoes of pursuit again 

Rolled on ; — she gazed upon the main ; 

Then seemed the mountain's haughty steep 

Too humble for her desperate leap ; 

Then seemed the broad and bursting wave 

Too calm, too shallow, for her grave. 

She turned her to the dead : — his brow 

( — ) Once more she gave her kiss of wo ; 

She gave his cheek one bitter tear, — 

The last she had for passion here — 

(°) Then to the steep ! — Away ! Away ! 

To the whirlwind's roar, and the dash of the spray. 



The Dead on the field of Waterloo. — Anon. 

Ye are gone to your narrow 7 beds, 

Ye forms of the martyred Brave ! 

The green grass sod springs o'er your heads 

And the wind blows round your grave. 

But the green turf that blooms above 

Is watered by the tears of love ; 

And the wild wind that wanders by, 

Is mingled with affection's sigh. 

( — ) Oh ! When ye sank on your bed of death, 
No gentle form hung o'er you ; 
No fond eye caught your parting breath, 
Or shrank in anguish from the view ! 
16* 



186 MODULATION. 

But o'er you, in that hour of fate, 
Bent the dark Gaul's revengeful form ; 
And the stern glance of ruthless hate 
Gleamed, dreadful, 'mid the hurrying storm. 

No mourning dirge did o'er you swell, 
Nor winding sheet your limbs enclosed ; 
For you was tolled no passing bell ; 
No tomb was raised where you reposed, 
For your bed of death was the battle-ground, 
'Twas there they heaped your funeral mound, 
And all unhallowed was your grave, 
Save by the ashes of the brave. 

Ye fixed, oh ye brave ! when for us ye died, 
On every heart an endless claim ; 
When ye sank in the battle's blood-red tide, 
Ye bought by your death a deathless name ; 
More great than the warriors of ages gone, — 
More great than the heroes of Marathon : 
( ) They from one land, a tyrant hurled ; 
( o ) Ye crushed the tyrant of the world. 
The hour that stayed your course for ever, 
Checked many gay heart's joyous swell 
Sweet hopes were nipt to blossom never, 
When, smote in Glory's lap you fell. 

The patriot to the hero's claim, 
Bows his proud soul, with grief opprest^ 
But there are those, with whom his name 
Is still more loved, more fondly blest ; 
For whereso'er we cast our eyes, 
This wide extended plain around, 
The Father, Brother, Husband lies 
Beneath the undulating mound. 



THE EGYPTIAN TOMB. 187 



How many an eye, ye truly brave ! 
Has thanked you for the lives you gave ! 
( — ) Ye fondly loved ! how many a tear, 
Has witnessed to your virtues here ! 
Call not the warrior's grave unblest, 
Though 'mid this silent solitude, 
The gray stone rise not o'er his breast, 
Nor holy pile may here be viewed. 

When Egypt's tombs shall all be rent, 
And earth's proud temples swept away, 
Your deeds, — a deathless monument ! 
Shall guard your glory from decay. 



The Egyptian Tomb. — VV. L. Bowles. 

Pomp of Egypt's elder day, 
Shade of the mighty passed away, 
(Whose giant works still frown sublime. 
Mid the twilight shades of Time,) 
Fanes, of sculpture vast and rude, 
That strew the sandy solitude. 
Lo ! before our startled eyes, 
As at a wizard's wand, ye rise, 
Glimmering larger through the gloom ! 
While on the secrets of the tomb, 
Rapt in other times, we gaze, 
The Mother-Queen of ancient days, 
Her mystic symbol in her hand, 
Great Iris, seems herself to stand. 

From mazy vaults, high-arched and dim, 
(°) Hark! heard ye not Osiris' hymn ? 
And saw ye not in order dread 
The long procession of the dead ? 



188 - MODULATION. 

Forms that the night of years concealed, 

As by a flash, are here revealed ; 

Chiefs who sang the victor song, — 

Sceptred Kings, — a numerous throng, — 

From slumber of three thousand years 

Each, as in light and life, appears, 

Stern as of yore ! Yes, vision vast, 

Three thousand years have silent passed, 

Suns of the Empire risen and set 

(Whose story Time can ne'er forget.) 

Time in the morning of her pride, 

Immense, along the Nile's green side, 

The City* of the Sun appeared, 

And her gigantic image reared. 

As Memnon, like a trembling string 

When the Sun with rising ray 

Streaked the lonely desert gray, 

Sent forth its magic murmuring, 

That just was heard, — then died away ; 

So passed, oh ! Thebes ! thy morning pride ! 

Thy glory was the sound that died ! 

Dark city of the desolate, 

Once thou wast rich, and proud, and great ! 

This busy-peopled isle was then 

A waste, or roamed by savage men 

Whose gay descendants now appear 

To mark thy wreck of glory here. 

Phantom of that city old, 

Whose mystic spoils I now behold, 

A kingdom's sepulchre, — oh say, 

Shall Albion's own illustrious day, 

Thus darkly close ? Her power, her fame 

Thus pass away, a shade, a name ? — 

* Thebes. 



a maniac's harangue. 189 

( ) The Mausoleum murmured as I spoke ; 

A spectre seemed to rise, like towering smoke ; 

It answered not, but pointed as it fled 

To the black carcass of the sightless dead. 

Once more I heard the sounds of earthly strife, 

And the streets ringing to the stir of life. 



A Maniac's harangue, addressed to a street crowd. — Geyon. 

(This extract shows the effect of insanity upon the voice, and is in- 
troduced as an amusing piece for declamation.) 

When gentry are to be addressed, face to face, as at feast 
or fast, by preacher, or poacher, plain truth is stale, and with- 
all impolitic. But here, where are neither court nor bailiff, 
but a set of plain men, whose thoughts are nor thick nor con- 
ceited, — here if ever, I may speak my mind. And thus it is. 
Man is free. Ye, my friends, are men. Therefore ye are 
free. Free to act. Aye, free to act out your own judgments 
as ye are free to judge. They may imprison, or impale. But 
ye are free. Judgment. Then action. My argument is 
conclusive. Do ye shrink ? And from what ? From hunger ? 
Thirst ? Misery ? Nay, I see not these. Let glory so fill 
the eye, that ye shall soar above and beyond. Adieu, my 
friends. There's thought left. Deep. Fathomless as Hades. 
(°)Ye have it. ( ) Never. But hark. They come. The 
blue sky. Yield — ye dare not ? No. Thy heart is seared. 
( ) Heart said I ? ( 00 ) Behold him. ( 00 ) Thanks to ye brave 
souls. (°°) We come, we come. And nothing which comes 
of nothing proves it. The demonstration is sure. Nothing 
can outshine it. Enough. Enough. Reflect. Digest well 
my counsel. 



190 MODULATION. 



Influences which modified Hebrew Literature. — Dr. Turner. 

(This selection is introduced to illustrate the effect of Modulation, 
upon simple narrative, which is always enlivened by suitable variety 
of tone.) 

(••)The works of the Hebrews are, in some respects, 
comparable to those of any other people, while in some others 
they are very far superior. Extensive literature, indeed, is 
not to be expected from a nation situated like the Hebrews. 
Originally a migratory family, they were driven to Egypt in 
order to avoid perishing by famine. (=) The Egyptians, re- 
gardless of the advantages the country received from a dis- 
tinguished man of their race, subjected them to slavery, and 
held them for a long period in hard and disgraceful durance. 
The disposition to censure and distrust their leader, together 
with the utter want of spirit to face dangers, and fortitude to 
bear hardships, which followed them through the desert, is a 
plain proof of the degraded state to which the bulk of the peo- 
ple had been reduced, and at the same time, a striking illus- 
tration of the wisdom of Providence, in subjecting this people 
to a series of difficulties and toils, in a rude and uncultivated 
wilderness nearly forty years, in order to fit them for engaging 
with powerful and exasperated foes, whom they were about to 
expel from their country, or extirpate as enemies of God, and 
abandoned to all sorts of wickedness. (°) After they had be- 
come settled in the land promised to their ancestors, they were 
subjected to repeated subjugations, because they would not 
obey the law interdicting all idolatrous connection with the 
neighboring nations. The books of Judges and Samuel detail 
a lamentable series of tyrannical oppressions, which must 
have involved the newly settled tribes in deep distress, and 
present also some pictures of desolation and wickedness, from 
which the philanthropist, unable to lighten their deep dark 
shadows, would gladly turn aside, to view some more favora- 
ble exhibition. In the time of Solomon, luxury and voluptu- 



BOLINGBROKE AND RICHARD. 191 

ousness overspread the court T and, as is always the case, must 
have affected the character of the nation. His successor could 
have possessed but little of his father's wisdom, when he 
adopted the advice of the young courtiers in opposition to that 
of his graver counsellors, and began his administration by 
announcing to his subjects in the insolent style of oriental des- 
potism, that he intended to make the government far more 
burdensome and oppressive than it had been before. The re- 
volt and separate gorernment which followed, gave rise to 
other circumstances tending to constitutional and permanent 
hostility between the two nations, and ruinous to the advance- 
ment of taste, literature and science. ( )The Hebrews, en- 
feebled by intestine divisions, were the better fitted to become 
the prey of the surrounding spoilers. The Egyptians on the 
one side, and the Syrians and other ancient and inveterate foes, 
on the other, invaded and plundered their territories. Upon 
the rise and establishment of the later Assyrian, and afterwards 
of the Babylonian empires, new scourges were employed by 
God, though unsuccessfully, to reduce his people to an obe- 
dience which would have been attended by a correspondent 
degree of national prosperity. To use the language of a He- 
brew prophet and poet, beautifully expressive and strikingly 
appropriate, from its originating in the country of the very 
army whose march it characterizes, ( 00 ) the enemy rolled on 
like a mighty flood reaching up to the neck, reducing the na- 
tion to the brink of ruin, and menacing utter desolation. At 
last, after many and rapidly successive changes in the govern- 
ment, the Israelitish kingdom fell before its plunderers, and 
with its fall much of its literature was swept away. 



Bolingbroke and Richard.— Shakste are. 

Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, 
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know — 



192 MODULATION. 

With slow, but stately pace, he kept his course, 

While all tongues cry'd (°°) God save thee, Bolingbroke ! 

You would have thought, the very windows spake, 

So many greedy looks of young and old 

Through casements darted their desiring eye 

Upon his visage ; and that all the walls, 

With painted imagery,* had said at once — 

Jesu preserve thee ! welcome Bolingbroke ! 

Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, 

Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, 

Bespoke them thus, (°)I thank you, countrymen: 

And thus still doing, thus he passed along. 

( ) But as, in theatre, the eyes of men, 

After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage, 

Are idly bent on him that enters next, 

Thinking his prattle to be tedious: 

Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes 

Did scowl on Richard ; no man cry'd, God save him ! 

No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : 

But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; 

Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off — 

(His face still combating with tears and smiles, 

The badges of his grief and patience) 

That had not God, for some strong purpose steel'd 

The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, 

And barbarism itself have pitied him. 



Scene before the Battle of Agincourt. — Shakspeare. 

From camp to camp, through the dark dismal night, 
The hum of either army stilly sounds, 
That the fix'd sentinels almost receive 
The secret whispers of each other's watch. 

*Tapestry hung from the windows. 



SCENE BEFORE THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT. 193 

Fire answers fire ; and through their paly flames 
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face : 
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs, 
Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents, 
The armourers, accomplishing the knights, 
With busy hammers closing rivets up, 
( ) Give dreadful note of preparation. 
The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll ; 
And the third hour of drowsy morning nam'd. 
(°) Proud of their numbers and secure in soul, 
The confident and over-lusty French 
Do the low-rated English play at dice ; 
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night, 
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp 
So tediously away. ( •• ) The poor condemned English^ 
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires 
Sit patiently, and inly ruminate 
The morning's danger ; and their gesture sad, 
Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, 
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon 
So many horrid ghosts, O, now, who will behold 
The royal captain of this ruin'd band, 
(=) Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, 
Let him cry, Praise and glory on his head ! 
For forth he goes, and visits all his host ; 
Bids them good-morrow, with a modest smile ; 
And calls them, brothers, friends, and countrymen. 
Upon his royal face there is no note 
How dread an army hath enrounded him ; 
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of color 
Unto the weary all-watched night ; 
But freshly looks, and overbears attaint, 
With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty ; 
That every wretch, pining and pale before, 
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks. 
17 



194 MODULATION. 

A largess universal, like the sun, 
His liberal eye doth give to every one, 
Thawing cold fear. 



Soliloquy— Henry VI. — Shakspeare. 

'Would I were dead ! if but my fate were so : 

For what is in this world, but grief and woe ? 

Alas ! methinks, it were a happy life, 

To be no better than a homely swain ; 

To sit upon a hill, as I do now, 

To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, 

Thereby to see the minutes how they run: 

How many make the hour full complete, 

How many hours bring about the day, 

How many days will finish up the year, 

How many years a mortal man may live. 

When this is known, then to divide the times : 

So many hours must I tend my flock ; 

So many hours must I take my rest ; 

So many hours must I contemplate ; 

So many hours must I sport myself; 

So many years ere I shall sheer my sheep : 

So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years, 

Past over to the end they were created, 

Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 

Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet ! how lovely ! 

Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade 

To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, 

Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy 

To kings, that fear their subjects treachery ? 

O, yes, it doth ; a thousand fold it doth. 

And to conclude, the shepherds homely curds, 

His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, 



A GOOD MAN. 195 



His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, 

All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, 

Is far beyond a prince's delicates, 

His viands sparkling in a golden cup, 

His body couched in a curious bed, 

When care, mistrust and treason wait on him. 



A Good Man. — YorjNG. 

Some angel guide my tongue, while I describe, 
What nothing less than angel can exceed, 
A man on earth devoted to the skies ; 

All the black cares and tumults of this life, 
Like harmless thunders, breaking at his feet, 
Excite his pity, not impair his peace. 
Earth's genuine sons, the sceptred and the slave, 
A mingled mob ! a wandering herd ! he sees, 
Bewilder'd in the vale ; in all unlike ! 
His full reverse in all ! What higher praise ? 
What stronger demonstration of the right ? 

The present, all their care ; the future, his, 
When public welfare calls, or private want, 
They give to fama ; his bounty he conceals. 
Their virtues varnish nature ; /u's, exalt. 
Mankind's esteem they court ; and Ae, his own. 
Theirs, the wild chase of false felicities ; 
His, the composed possession of the true. 
Alike throughout is his consistent peace ; 
All of one color, and an even thread ; 
While party-colored shreds of happiness, 
With hideous gaps between, patch up for them 



196 MODULATION. 

A madman's robe; each puff of fortune blows 
The tatters by, and shows their nakedness. 

(°) He sees with other eyes than theirs. Where they 

Behold a sun, he spies a deity : 

What makes them only smile, makes him adore. 

Where they see mountains, he but atoms sees : 

An empire, in his balance, weighs a grain. 

They things terrestrial worship as divine ; 

His hopes immortal blow them by, as dust, 

That dims his sight, and shortens his survey, 

Which longs, in infinite, to lose all bound. 

Titles and honors (if they prove his fate,) 

He lays aside, to find his dignity : 

No dignity they find in aught besides. 

They triumph in externals (which conceal 

Man's real glory,) proud of an eclipse. 

Himself too much he prizes to be proud, 

And nothing thinks so great in man, as man* 

Too dear he holds his interest, to neglect 

Another's welfare, or his right invade ; 

Their interest, like a lion, lives on prey. 

They kindle at the shadow of a wrong : 

Wrong he sustains with temper, looks on heaven, 

Nor stoops to think his injurer his foe : 

Nought, but what wounds his virtue, wounds his peace. 

A cover'd heart their character defends ; 

A cover'd heart denies him half his praise. 



Traveller overwhelmed in Snow. — Thompson. 

While the wild snows arise ; and foul, and fierce, 
All winter drives along the darken'd air ; 
In his own loose-revolving fields, the swain 



TRAVELLER OVERWHELMED IN SNOW. 197 

Disaster'd stands ; sees other hills ascend, 
Of unknown joyless brow ; and other scenes, 
Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain ; 
Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid 
Beneath the formless wild ; but wanders on 
From hill to dale, still more and more astray ; 
Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps, 
Stung with the thoughts of home ; the thoughts of home 
Rush on his nerves, and call their vigor forth 
In many a vain attempt. (°) How sinks his soul! 
What black despair, what horror fills his heart ! 
When for the dusky spot, which fancy feign'd 
His tufted cottage rising through the snow, 
He meets the roughness of the middle waste, 
Far from the track, and blest abode of man ; 
While round him night resistless closes fast, 
And every tempest, howling o'er his head, 
Renders the savage wilderness more wild. 
( ) Then throng the busy shapes into his mind 
Of cover'd pits, unfathomably deep, 
A dire descent ! beyond the power of frost ; 
Of faithless bogs; of precipices huge, 
Smooth'd up with snow ; and, what is land, unknown, 
What water, of the still unfrozen spring, 
In the loose marsh or solitary lake, 
Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils. 
These check his fearful steps ; and down he sinks 
Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift, 
Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death, 
Mix'd with the tender anguish Nature shoots 
Through the wrung bosom of the dying man, 
( — ) His wife, his children, and his friends unseen. 
In vain for him th' officious wife prepares 
The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm ; 
Q>) In vain his little children, peeping out 
17* 



198 MODULATION. 

Into the mingling storm, demand their sire, 

"With tears of artless innocence. ( — ) Alas ! 

Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold, 

Nor friends, nor sacred home, (o^) On every nerve 

The deadly Winter seizes ; shuts up sense ; 

And, o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold, 

Lays him along the snows, a stiffen'd corse, 

( •• ) Stretch'd out, and bleaching in the northern blast 



The Ghost of drowned Edmund.— Soutkey. 

No eye beheld when William plung'd 

Young Edmund in the stream, 
No human ear but William's heard 

Young Edmund's drowning scream. 

Submissive all the vassals own'd 

The murderer for their lord, 
And he, as rightful heir, possess'd 

The house of Erlingford. 

But never could Lord William dare 

To gaze on Severn's stream ; 
In every wind that swept its waves 

He heard young Edmund's scream. 

Reluctant now, as night came on, 

His lonely couch he press'd ; 
And wearied out, he sunk to sleep — 

To sleep — but not to rest. 

Beside his couch his brother's form, 
Lord Edmund, seem'd to stand, 

Such and so pale as when in death 
He grasp'd his brother's hand ; 



THE GHOST OF DROWNED EDMUND. 199 

" I bade thee with a father's love 

My orphan Edmund guard — 
Well, William, hast thou kept thy charge ! 

Now take thy due reward ! 

He started up, each limb convuls'd 

With agonizing; fear : 
He only heard the storm of night — 

'Twas music to his ear. 

When, lo ! the voice of loud alarm 

His inmost soul appals ; 
(°°) " What, ho ! Lord William rise in haste ! 

A flood surrounds thy walls ! " 

He rose in haste, beneath the walls 

He saw the flood appear ; 
He heard the shout of joy, for now 

A boat was drawing near. 

" My boat is small,' 1 the boatman cried, 

Twill bear but one away ; 
Come in, Lord William ! others must 

Till I return, here stay." 

The boatman plied the oar, the boat 

Went light along the stream — 
Sudden Lord William heard a cry 

Like Edmund's drowning scream. 

The boatman paus'd, (==) " rnethought I heard 

A child's distressful cry ! 
(°) " 'Twas but the howling wind of night," 

Lord William made reply ; 

" I heard a child's distressful voice," 
The boatman said again. 



200 MODULATION. 

" Nay, hasten on ! — the night is dark— 
And we should search in vain ! " 

The shriek again was heard : It came 

More deep, more piercing loud : 
That instant o'er the flood the moon 

Shone through a broken cloud ; 

And near them they beheld a child ; 

Upon a crag he stood, 
A little crag, and all around 

Was spread the rising flood. 

The boatman plied the oar, the boat 

ApproachM his resting-place ; 
The moon-beam shone upon the child, 

And show'd how pale his face. 

(°) " Now reach thine hand !" the boatman cried, 
" Lord William, reach and save ! " 

( — ) The child stretch'd forth his little hands 
To grasp the hand he gave— 

Then William shriek'd; ( 00 ) the hand he touched 
Was cold and damp and dead ! 



Grecian Degeneracy. — Byron. 

The mountains look on Marathon — 
And Marathon looks on the sea ; 

And musing there an hour alone, 

I dreamed that Greece might still be free ; 

For standing on the Persian's grave, 

I could not deem myself a slave. 



GRECIAN DEGENERACY. 201 

A king sate on the lofty brow 

Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; 
And ships, by thousands, lay below, 

And men in nations ; all were his ! 
He counted them at break of day — 
And when the sun set where were they ? 

And where are they ? and where art thou, 
My country ? On thy voiceless shore 

The heroic lay is tuneless now — 
The heroic bosom beats no more ! 

And must thy lyre, so long divine, 

Degenerate into hands like mine ? 

'Tis something in the dearth of fame, 
Though link'd among a fettered race, 

To feel at least a patriot's shame, 
Even as I sing, suffuse my face ; 

For what is left the poet here ? 

For Greeks a blush-— for Greece a tear. 

Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? 

Must we but blush ? — Our fathers bled. 
Earth ! render back from out thy breast 

A remnant of our Spartan dead ! 
Of the three hundred grant but three, 
To make a new Thermopylae ! 

What, silent still ? and silent all ? 

Ah ! no : — the voices of the dead 
Sound like a distant torrent's fall, 

And answer, " Let one living head t 
But one arise — we come, we come ! ,J 
'Tis but the living who are dumb, 



202 MODULATION. 

" Death of the Chief of Tuva's Isle." — Campbell. 

" Now who be ye ? would cross Lochgyle, 
This dark and stormy water ? " 

" O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, 
And this Lord Ullin's daughter : 

" And fast before her father's men, 
Three days we've fled together ; 

For should he find us in the glen, 

My blood would stain the heather." — 

Outspoke the hardy Highland wight, 
" I'll go my chief — I'm ready : — 

It is not for your silver bright, 
But for your winsome lady ! 

" And by my word, the bonny bird 

In danger shall not tarry ; 
So— though the waves are raging white — 

I'll row you o'er the ferry ! " 

" Oh ! hast thee, haste ! " the lady cries, 
Though tempests round us gather, 

Pll meet the raging of the skies, 
But not an angry father." — 

The boat has left a stormy land, 

A stormy sea before her — 
When — oh ! too strong for human hand ! 

The tempest gather'd o'er her — 

And still they row'd amidst the roar 

Of waters fast prevailing : 
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, 

His wrath was chang'd to wailing— 



EXECUTION BY BEHEADING. 203 

" Come back ! come back ! " he cried in grief, 

Across this stormy water : 
And I'll forgive your Highland chief, 

My daughter ! — Oh ! my daughter ! " 

'Twas vain !— the loud waves lash'd the shore, 

Return or aid preventing : 
The waters wild went o'er his child — 

And he was left lamenting. 



Execution by beheading. — Byron. 

The convent bells are ringing, 

But mournfully and slow ; 
In the gray square turret swinging, 

With a deep sound, to and fro. 

Heavily to the heart they go ! 
Hark ! the hymn is singing — 

The song for the dead below, 

Or the living who shall shortly be so ! 
For a departing being's soul 

The death-hymn peals, and the hollow bells knoll ; 
He is near his mortal goal ; 
Kneeling at the friar's knee ; 
Sad to hear— and piteous to see — 
Kneeling on the bare cold ground, 
With the block before and the guards around — 
And the headsman with his bare arm ready, 
That the blow may be both swift and steady, 
Feels if the axe be sharp and true — 
Since he set its edge anew ! 

It is a lovely hour as yet 
Before the summer sun shall set, 



204 MODULATION. 

Which rose upon that heavy day, 
And mock'd it with its steadiest ray ; 
And his evening beams are shed 
Full on Hugo's fated head, 
As his last confession pouring 
To the monk, his doom deploring 
In penitential holiness, 
He bends to hear his accents bless 
With absolution, if it may 
Wipe his mortal stains away. 
That high sun on his head did glisten, 
As he there did bow and listen — 
And the rings of chesnut hair 
Curl'd half down his neck so bare ; 
But brighter still the beam was thrown 
Upon the axe which near him shone 
With a clear and ghastly glitter — 
Oh ! that parting hour was bitter ! 
Even the stern stood chill with awe : 
Dark the crime, and just the law — 
Yet they shuddered as they saw. 

His mantling cloak before was stripp'd, 

His bright brown locks must now be clipp'd; 

'Tis done — all closely are they shorn — 

The vest which till this moment worn — 

Even that must now be thrown aside, 

And o'er his eyes the kerchief tied ; 

But no — that last indignity 

Shall ne'er approach his haughty eye. 

All feelings, seemingly subdued, 

In deep disdain were half renewed, 

When headman's hands prepared to bind 

Those eyes which would not brook such blind 



THE EFFECT OF FRIGHT. 205 

I 

As if they dared not look on death. 

■" No — yours my forfeit blood and breath — 

These hands are chainM but let me die 

At least with an unshackled eye — 

Strike :" — and as the word he said, 

Upon the block he bowed his head ; 

These the last accents Hugo spoke : 

u Strike :" — and flashing fell the stroke — 

His eyes and lips a moment quiver, 

Convulsed and quick — then fix forever. 



The effect of fright. — Southey* 

Who is she, the poor maniac ! whose widely -fi'x'd eyes 
Seem a heart overcharg'd with distress ? — 

She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs ; 

She never complains — but her silence — implies 
The composure of settled distress ! 

No aid, no compassion the maniac will seek, 

Cold and hunger awake not her care ; 
Through the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak 
On her poor wither'd bosom half bare ; and her cheek 

Has the deadly pale hue of despair ! 

Yet cheerful and happy — nor distant the day- 
Poor Mary, the Maniac, has been : 

The traveller remembers, who journey'd this way, 

No damsel so lovely, no damsel so gay, 
As Mary, the Maid of the Inn. 

'Twas in Autumn, ( ) and stormy and dark was the night, 

And fast were the windows and door ; 
Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burn'd bright, 
18 



206 MODULATION. 

And smoking in silence, with tranquil delight, 
( •• ) They listen'd to hear the wind roar. 

" 'Tis pleasant," cried one, " seated by the fire-side, 

To hear the winds whistle without." 
" A fine night for the Abbey I" his comrade replied : 
" Methinks a man's courage would now be well tried, 

Who should wander the ruins about. 

u I myself, like a school-boy, should tremble to hear 

The hoarse ivy shake o'er my head ; 
And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by fear, 
Some ugly old abbot's white spirit appear, 

For this wind might awaken the dead." 

" I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried, 
" That Mary would venture there now :" 
c< Then wager, and lose," with a sneer he replied, 
" I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side, 
And faint if she saw a white cow !" 

(°) " Will Mary this charge on her courage allow ?" 

His companion exclaim'd, with a smile ; 
" I shall win, for I know she will venture there now, 
And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough 
From the alder that grows in the aisle." 

With fearless good humor did Mary comply, 

And the way to the Abbey she bent — 
The night it was gloomy, the wind it was high, 
And, as hollowly howling it swept through the sky, 

She shiver'd with cold as she went. 

O'er the path, so well known, still proceeded the maid, 

Where the Abbey rose dim on the sight; 
Through the gate-way she enter'd— she felt not afraid — 



JEPHTHAH. 207 

Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade 
Seem'd to deepen the gloom of the night. 

All around her was silent, save when the rude blast 

Howl'd dismally round the old pile ; 
Over weed-cover'd fragments still fearless she passed, 
And arriv'd at the innermost ruin at last, 

Where the alder tree grows in the aisle. 

Well pleas'd did she reach it, and quickly drew near, 

And hastily gather'd the bough— 
0>) When the sound of a voice seem'd to rise on her ear — 
She paus'd, and she listened all eager to hear, 

( •• ) And her heart panted fearfully now ! 

Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear, 

She crept, to conceal herself there ; 
( ) That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, 
( ) And she saw in the moon-light two ruffians appear, 

And between them (~oo~) a corpse did they bear ! 

(=) She ran with wild speed, she rush'd in at the door, 

She iook'd horribly eager and wild : 
Her limbs could support their faint burden no more; 
But, exhausted and breathless, she sunk on the floor, 

( ) And has since been a maniac child. 



Jephthah. — Willis. 
She stood before her fathers gorgeous tent, 
To listen for his coming. 

I have thought 
A brother's and a sister's love was much. 
I know a brother's is, for I have loved 
A trusting sister ; and I know how broke 
The heart may be with its own tenderness. 



208 MODULATION. 

But the affection of a delicate child 

For a fond father, gushing as it does 

With the sweet springs of life, and living on f 

Through all earth's changes, 

Must be holier ! 

The wind bore on 
The leaden tramp of thousands. Clarion notes 
Rang sharply on the ear at intervals ; 
And the low, mingled din of mighty hosts 
Returning from the battle, poured from far ? 
Like the deep murmur of a restless sea. 

The Jephthah led his warriors on 
Through Mispeh's streets. His helm was proudly set, 
And his stern lip curled slightly, as if praise 
Were for the hero's scorn. His step was firm, 
But free as India's leopard ; and his mail, 
Whose shekels none in Israel might bear, 
Was lighter than a tassel on his frame. 
His crest was Jadah's kingliest, and the look 
Of his dark, lofty eye 

Might quell a lion. He led on ; but thoughts 
Seemed gathering round which troubled him. The veins 
Upon his forehead were distinctly seen ; 
And his proud lip was painfully compressed. 
He trod less firmly ; and his restless eye 
Glanced forward frequently, as if some ill 
He dared not meet were there. His home was near; 
And men were thronging, with that strange delight 
They have in human passions, to observe 
The struggle of his feelings with his pride. 
He gazed intensely forward. 

A moment more, 
And he had reached his home ; when lo ! there sprang 



DEATH OF HENRY MARTYN. 209 

One with a bounding footstep, and a brow 

Like light, to meet him. Oh ! how beautiful! 

Her dark eye flashing like a sun-lit gem, 

And her luxuriant hair — 'twas like the sweep 

Of a swift wing in visions ! He stood still, 

As if the sight had withered him. She threw 

Her arms about his neck ; he heeded not. 

She called him ' Father,' but he answered not. 

She stood and gazed upon him. Was he wroth ? 

There was no anger in that bloodshot eye. 

Had sickness seized him ? She unclasped his helm, 

And laid her white hand gently on his brow, 

The touch aroused him. He raised up his hands, 

( ) And spoke the name of God, in agony. 

She knew that he was striken then, and rushed 

Again into his arms, and with a flood 

Of tears she could not bridle, sobbed a prayer 

That he w r ould tell her of his wretchedness. 

He told her, and a momentary flush 

Shot o'er her countenance : and then the soul 

Of Jephthah's daughter wakened, and she stood 

Calmly and nobly up, and said ( — ) "Tis well — 

And I will die ! ' 

And when the sun had set, — 
( ) Then she was dead — but not by violence. 



Death of Henry Martyn. 

When far from those we love, in Stranger lands 
Mid burning heats of day and chills of night, 
Where thirst and hunger call for quick relief 
Sweet is coarse fare, — the hardest couch is soft. — 

18* 



210 MODULATION. 

So Martyn found it,— at the Turkish Inn. 

None could feel sympathy. They heeded not 

The hectic burning of that fevered cheek, 

Nor saw the lustre — of that flashing eye 

In sunken socket, — like a flickering flame 

Sparkling too brightly to continue long. 

His tasteless meal was o'er — and on a couch 

Thrown carelessly upon the pavement stone 

The traveller reposes. — Now his eye 

Rises towards proud Tocat's mountain heights, 

Now falls upon the minaret, — and now 

Glances in pity on the multitudes 

Which crowd each avenue, in busy mirth. 

At times the eye of curious passer by 

Rests heedless on him, — while a scornful lip 

Mutters its curse as on a Christian dog. 

And then a smile, — and then a tear are seen 

Upon the traveller's countenance. He smiles 

For he once more has heard the name of Christ. — 

A tear steals forth, — for Christ has been blasphemed 

In the despite which his disciple bears. — 

Oh, there are times — when man needs sympathy, — 

When the full heart is broken, and no power 

Save that of friendship can assuage its griefs. — 

Then conjugal affection wields a charm 

Dispelling sorrow — bidding anguish cease. 

Then the mild chidings of maternal love 

The deeper current of a father's care 

A sister's tearful, gushing, minstrelsy 

The firm attachment of a brother's heart, 

A friend's kind interest, and soothing tone, 

Or e'en a stranger's voice, which claims your ear 

Because that stranger feels himself a man, 

Each, all of these, are needed in the hour 

(Which comes to all) — of loneliness and woe. 



DEATH OF HENRY MARTYN. 211 

That hour has come. That loneliness he feels — 
But she — the loved one of his early days, 
Lingers not here, to lave his burning head. 
Nor friend, nor stranger look nor speak in love. 
The hireling servant, reckless of the pain 
Which others may endure, — sleeps, — calmly sleeps. — 
But sleep forsakes his eye, — cold — shivering chills 
Benumb his senses — parching heat succeeds, — 
And the fine texture of his heart is racked, 
As the unfeeling keeper of the host 
Talks of a place to bury Christians in 
Where they will not pollute the Moslem dead, 
And looks, the while, with dubious glance at him. 
But hush, — in whispered prayer he lifts his soul 
Above this cold — vile— wretched — cheerless world. 
How eloquent that plea, — How wide the range 
Of his benevolent anxiety. — 

" The world — The world — O Lord — The world re- 
deem." 
Too vast his high conceptions, — Nature sinks. 
Yet holy thoughts, alone pervade his mind 
Amid the wanderings of insanity. — 
Around the Madman stand a Moslem crowd — 
To whom he teaches, in wild eloquence 
All incoherently, the truths of God. 
And when the final judgment shall reveal 
The chosen of the Lamb, those frenzied words — 
Shall prove the death of Martyn was not lost. 






Battle of Lucena. 

From city wall, from watch-tower's crown, 
A thousand eyes gazed eager down 



212 MODULATION. 

Upon the Xenel's verdant plain, 

Yet gazed, — from week to week in vain. 

The mountains of Algaringo — 

With late and early sunbeams glow — 

The music of the soft guitar 

Through Loxa's streets is echoed far. 

But not as yet does solar ray 

On burnished spear and helmet play — 

And not as yet the martial strain 

Of Bobadil is heard again. 

Yet who can doubt that Atar's host, 

Granada's proud and fearless boast, 

Will soon return with ample spoil, 

The full reward of warlike toil ? 

Their triumph march — their triumph song, 

Seem now to reach the anxious throng. 

When lo — the dying sunbeam shone 

Upon a chevalier, alone — 

Whose faltering horse, with drooping head, 

Came panting, foaming through the glade. 

Those trappings and that plume must be 

The symbols of the brave Cidi. 

Near — nearer, — he has reached at last, 

The portal — weary — faint — aghast. 

He kneels in silence on the ground, 

The wondering thousands gather round, 

And while to heaven he lifts his eyes, 

Their sad and frantic queries ply. 

u Brave Cidi — Where didst leave our king. 

What news of Atar dost thou bring ? — 

Where is Lucena's captive train ? 

Trailing along the Moorish chain. 

Long have we hoped to see them here, , 

Say, — Why alone dost thou appear ? " 

The Moorish warrior spread his hand, 



BATTLE OF LUCENA. 213 

Towards Lucena's mountain land, 

Whose snowtops mingled with the sky, 

And faintly shouted, " There they lie — 

The Christian has way-laid our host, 

The Moslem princes all are lost.'" 

When from some ancient Alpine peak, 

Huge piles of melting glaciers break, 

And cities, towns and hamlets hear, 

And stand convulsed, benumbed with fear. 

No sound is heard,— no voice, no breath, 

Save the loud rush of whelming death. 

Thus Loxa's thousands breathless stood, 

While city wall, — and crag, and wood, 

And the slow breeze which trembled by, 

Each echoed back — "There, there they lie." 

Then gushing tears in silence flow — 

And then there came the shriek of woe, 

Which like wild thunder rolled along 

The black and lowering clouds among, 

Till its deep murmur from the main 

Was fearfully borne back again. — 

The Moorish bride — ere half was told, 

Upon the clod sank pale and cold. — 

The matron turned to earth her eye — 

And shouted wildly, — let me die. — 

A soldier, cried, (whose deeds of war, 

Had marked his breast with many a scar,) 

One arm alone can safety give, 

Doth the brave Ali Atar live ? 

Again they turn their eye and ear, 

The warlike Atar's fate to hear. 

" I saw the sabre cleave his head, 

I saw him float in Xenel's bed." — 

That soldier smote his breast and laid 

Low in the dust, his veteran head, — 



214 



MODULATION. 



And nought was heard but pitious tones 
Of widow's wail, and orphan's moan. 



Death of Sykes, the murderer. — Boz. 

Of all the terrific yells that ever fell on mortal ears, none 
could exceed the cry of that infuriated throng — some shouted 
to those who were nearest to set the house on fire ; others 
roared to the officers to shoot them dead. Among them all, 
none showed such fury as the man on horseback, who, throw- 
ing himself out of the saddle and bursting through the crowd 
as if he were parting water, cried beneath the window in a 
voice that rose above all others, " Twenty guineas to the man 
who brings a ladder." 

The nearest voices took up the cry, and a hundred echoed 
it. Some called for ladders, some for sledgehammers ; some 
ran with torches to and fro as if to seek them, and still came 
back and roared again ; some spent their breath in impotent 
curses and execrations ; some pressed forward with the ec- 
stasy of madmen, and thus impeded the progress of those be- 
low ; some among the boldest attempted to climb up by the wa- 
ter-spout and crevices in the wall ; and all waved to and fro in 
the darkness beneath, like a field of corn moved by an angry 
wind, and joined from time to time in one loud, furious roar. 

" The tide !" cried the murderer, as he staggered back into 
the room and shut the faces out. " The tide was in as I came 
up. Give me a rope, a long rope. They're all in front. I 
may drop into the Folly Ditch, and clear off that way. Give 
me a rope, or I shall do three more murders and kill myself 
at last." 

The panic-striken men pointed to where such articles were 
kept ; the murderer, hastily selecting the longest and strong- 
est cord, hurried up to the house-top. 

The crowd had been hushed during these few moments, 



DEATH OF SYKES. 215 

watching his motions and doubtful of his purpose, but the in- 
stant they perceived it and knew it was defeated, they raised 
a cry of triumphant execration, to which all their previous 
shoutings had been whispers. Again and again it rose ; those 
who were at too great a distance to know its meaning, took up 
the sound ; it echoed and re-echoed ; it seemed as though the 
whole city had poured its population out to curse him. 

On pressing the people from the front — on, on, on, in one 
strong struggling current of angry faces, with here and there 
a glaring torch to light them up and show them out in all their 
wrath and passion. The houses on the opposite side of the 
ditch had been entered by the mob; sashes were thrown up 
or torn bodily out ; there were tiers and tiers of faces in every 
window, and cluster upon cluster of people clinging to every 
house-top. Each little bridge (and there were three in sight) 
bent beneath the weight of the crowd upon it, and still the 
current poured on to find some nook or hole from which to 
vent their shouts, and only for an instant see the wretch. 

U I promise fifty pounds," cried an old gentleman from the 
same quarter ; u fifty pounds to the man who takes him alive. 
I will remain here till he comes to ask me for it." 

There was another roar. At this moment the word was 
passed among the crowd that the door was forced at last, and 
that he who had first called for the ladder had mounted into 
the room. The stream abruptly turned as this intelligence ran 
from mouth to mouth, and the people at the windows seeing 
those upon the bridges pouring back, quitted their stations, 
and running into the street, joined the concourse that now 
thronged pellmell to the spot they had left, each man crushing 
and striving with his neighbor, and all panting with impatience 
to get near the door and look upon the criminal, as the officers 
brought him out. The cries and shrieks of those who were 
pressed almost to suffocation, or trampled down and trodden 
under foot in the confusion, were dreadful : the narrow ways 
were completely blocked up ; and at this time, between the 



216 



MODULATION. 



rush of some to regain the space in front of the house, and 
the unavailing struggles of others to extricate themselves from 
the mass, the immediate attention was distracted from the 
murderer, although the universal eagerness for his capture 
was, if possible, increased. 

Roused into new strength and energy, and stimulated by the 
noise within the house, which announced that an entrance had 
really been effected, he set his foot against the stack of chim- 
neys, fastened one end of the rope tightly and firmly round it, 
and with the other made a strong running noose by the aid of 
his hands and teeth almost in a second. He could let himself 
down by the cord to within a less distance of the ground than 
his own height, and had his knife ready in his hand to cut it 
then and drop. 

At the very instant that he brought the loop over his head 
previous to slipping it beneath his arm-pits, and -when the old 
gentleman before mentioned (who had clung so tight to the 
railings of the bridge as to resist the force of the crowd, and 
retain his position) earnestly warned those about him that the 
man was about to lower himself down — at that very instant 
the murderer, looking behind him on the roof, threw his arms 
above his head, and uttered a yell of terror. 

Staggered as if struck by lightning, he lost his balance and 
tumbled over the parapet : the noose was at his neck ; it ran 
up with his weight tight as a bow-string, and swift as the ar- 
row it speeds. He fell for five-and-thirty feet. There was a 
sudden jerk, a terrific convulsion of the limbs, and there he 
hung, with the open knife clenched in his stiffening hand. 



Hallowed Ground. — Campbell. 

(°°) What's hallowed ground ? Has earth a clod 
Its Maker meant not should be trod 



HALLOWED GROUiND. • 217 

By man, the image of his God, 

Erect and free, 
Unscourged by superstition's rod, 

To bow the knee ? 

What's hallowed ground ? — where, mourned and missed* 

The lips repose our love has kissed. 

But where's their memory's mansion ? ( ) Ts't 

Yon churchyard's bowers 2 
No ! in ourselves their souls exist, 

A part of ours. 

A kiss can consecrate the ground 

Where mated hearts are mutual bound : 

The spot where love's first links were wound r 

That ne'er are riven, 
Is hallowed, down to earth's profound, 

And up to heaven ! 

( c ) What hallows ground where heroes sleep ? 
'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap : 
In dews that heavens far-distant weep 

( •• ) Their turf may bloom ; 
Or genii twine beneath the deep 

Their coral tomb. 

But strew his ashes to the wind 

Whose sword or voice has saved mankind, 

And is he dead, whose glorious mind 

Lifts thine on high ? 
( •• ) To live in hearts we leave behind. 

Is not to die. 

Is't death to fall for freedom's right ? 
He's dead alone that lacks her light ! 
19 



218 MODULATION. 

And murder sullies, in heaven's sight, 

The sword he draws : — 

What can alone ennoble fight ? 
A noble cause ? 

Give that : and welcome war to brace 

Her drums ! and rend heaven's reeking space ! 

The colors planted face to face, 

The charging cheer, 
( c ) Though death's pale horse lead on the chase, 

Shall still be dear. 

What's hallowed ground ? 'Tis that gives birth 
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth I 
Peace ! independence \ truth ! go forth 

Earth's compass round ; 
And your high-priesthood shall make earth 

AH hallowed ground ! 



Regulus before the Roman Senate. — Jewsbury. 

Thou here !— and have not prison gloom, 
And taunted foes, and threatened doom, 

Obscured thy courage yet ? — 
(°) Oh joy for earth ! thus to behold 
One spirit of such glorious mould ; 

One sun that cannot set, — 
Though storms beat round it in their might, 
And sorrow flings her blackest night. 



J h° 



Thy power is past, thy sword hath rust, 
Thine outward honor in the dust, 



REGULTTS BEFORE THE ROMAN SENATE. 219 

Nor chief, nor ruler thou ! 
The fetter's mark is on thy limb — 
Thine hair is gray — thine eye is dim — 

And on tby pallid brow, 
Those records of -soul-strife are set, 
That none may gaze on, and forget. 

( ) Thou lion chained ! — thou eagle blind ! 
Though last I saw thee u neon fined 

In grandeur and in might, — 
One empire wreath thy victor crown, 
Another, tremble at thy frown, — 

Less glorious far that sight, 
Than thus to view thee standing now, 
Chief of &e stern and stricken brow I 

The mighty ones of Rome are met, 
Her senate sages round thee set, 

=(Each worthy of a throne) 
Yet mean, compared with thine, their state; 
They, but dispose of others 1 fate, — 

Thou, patriot — of thine own ; 
For them, the world may guerdon be, — 
Thine, thine^ is immortality! 

But holier things than life or power 
Surround thee in this awful hour:; 

Still warrior art thou strong ? 
That suppliant — 'tis thy wife that bends, 
Those tears— they flow from faithful friends, 

Thy children round thee throng : 
(°) One word., but one, and thou may'st stay ;— 
Firm spirit, wilt thou turn away ? 



220 MODULATION. 

( 'J ) A dull deep pause — that hush of breath 
Which speaks anticipated death, 

One still, stern look from him, — 
A look, that tells of spotless fame, 
Of strength for suffering, not for shame, 

Resolve, no grief must dim ; — 
This — and the Roman all would save, 
Departs^ self-martyred, for the grave ! 



The Spider and the Bee. — Anonymous. 

With vicious thread, and finger fine, 
The spider spun his filmy line ; 
The extremes with stronger cordage tied r 
And wrought the web from side to side. 

Beneath the casement's pendant roof 
He hung aloft the shadowy woof: — 
There in the midst compressed he lies, 
And patient waits the expected prize. 

(°) When, lo I on sounding pinion strong, 

A bee, incautious, rushed along ; 

Nor of the gauzy net aware 

( = ^ = ) Till all entangled in the snare. 

(=) Enraged, he plies his buzzing wings, 
His far-resounding war-song sings ; 
Tears all that would his course control, 
And threatens ruin to the whole. 

With dread, with gladness, with surprise, 
The spider saw the dangerous prize ; 



"SOLILOQUY FROM MANFRED. 221 

Then rushed relentless on his foe, 
Intent to give the deadly blow. 

But as the spider came in view, 
The bee his poisoned dagger drew"; — 
{ •• ) Back at the sight the spider ran,— 
And now his crafty work began. 

With lengthened arms the snares he plied-, 
He turned the bee from side to side ; 
His legs he tied, his wings he bound, 
And whirled his victim round and round. 

And now with cautious steps and slow, 
He came to give the fatal blow^ 
When, frightened at the trenchant blade, 
The bee one desperate effort made. 

(=)The fabric breaks — the cords give way; 
His wings resume their wonted play ; 
Far off on gladsome plume he flies, 
And drags the spider through the skies. 

( ) Shun vice^s snares; — but if you're caught, 
Boldly resist, and parley not : 
Then, though your foe you cannot kill, 
You'll lead him captive where you will. 



Soliloquy from Manfred, — Byron, 
( )The spirits I have raised abandon me — 
The spells which I have studied baffle me — 
The remedy I recked of tortured me ; 
I lean no more on superhuman aid, 
19* 



222 MODULATION. 

It hath no power upon the past, and for 

The future, till the past be gulfed in darkness, 

It is not of my search. My mother earth ! 

And thou, fresh breaking day ; and you, ye mountains, 

Why are ye beautiful ? I cannot love ye. 

And thou, the bright eye of the universe, 

That openest over all, and unto all 

Art a delight— thou shinest not on my heart ; 

And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge 

I stand, and on the torrent's brink beneath 

Behold the tall pines dwindle as to shrubs 

In dizziness of distance ; when a leap, 

A stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring 

My breast upon its rocky bosom's bed 

To rest for ever (°) wherefore do I pause ? 

I feel the impulse— yet I do not plunge ; 

I see the peril— yet do not recede ; 

And my brain reels — and yet my foot is firm : 

There' is a power upon me which withholds 

And makes it my fatality to live : 

If it be life to wear within myself 

This barrenness of spirit, and to be 

My own soul's sepulchre, for I have ceased 

To justify my deeds unto myself — 

The last infirmity of evil. (°) Ay, 

Thou winged and cloud-cleaving minister, 

[An eagle passes. 
Whose happy flight is highest into heaven, 
Well mayest thou swoop so near me — I should be 
Thy prey, and gorge thine eaglets ; thou art gone 
Where the eye cannot follow thee ; but thine 
Yet pierces downward, onward or above 
W 7 ilh a pervading vision. — Beautiful ! 
How beautiful is all this visible world ! 
How glorious in its action and itself! 



THE MOSLEM BRIDAL SONG. 223 

But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, 

Half dust, half deity, alike unfit 

To sink or soar, with our mixed essence make 

A conflict of its elements, and hreathe 

The breath of degradation and of pride, 

Contending with low wants and lofty will 

Till our mortality predominates, 

And men are — what they name not to themselves, 

And trust not to each other. ( ) Hark ! the note, 

[The shepherd? s pipe in the distance is heard. 
The natural music of the mountain reed — 
For here the patriarchal days are not 
A pastoral fable— pipes in the liberal air, 
Mixed with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd ; 
My soul would drink those echoes. (°) Oh, that I were 
The viewless spirit of a lovely sound, 
A living voice, a breathing harmony, 
A bodiless enjoyment — born and dying 
With the blest tone which made me ! 



The Moslem Bridal Song. — Croly. 
There is a radiance in the sky, 
A flush of gold, and purple dye ! 
Night lingers in the west ; the sun 
Floats on the sea. — The day's begun. 
The wave, slow swelling to the shore, 
Gleams on the green like silver ore ; 
The grove, the cloud, the mountain's brow, 
Are burning in the crimson glow : 
Yet all is silence,— till the gale 
Shakes its rich pinions from the vale. 

It is a lovely hour ! — Though heaven 
Had ne'er to man his partner given, 



224 MODULATION. 

That thing of beauty, fatal, fair, 
Bright, fickle, — child of flame and air ; 
Yet such an hour, such skies above, 
Such earth below, had taught him love. 

But there are sounds along the gale, — 

Nor murmurs of the grot or vale, — 

Yet wild and sweet as ever stole 

To soothe their twilight wanderer's soul. 

It comes from yonder jasmine bower, 

From yonder mosque's enamelled tower, 

From yonder harem's roof of gold, 

From yonder castle's haughty hold ! 

Oh, strain of witchery ! whoe'er 

That heard thee, wished not more to hear ? 

My soul shall in the grave be dim 

Ere it forgets that bridal hymn. 

'Twas such a morn, 'twas such a tone 

That woke me ; — visions ! are you gone ? 

The flutes breathe nigh, — the portals now 
Pour out the train, white veiled, like snow 
Upon its mountain summit spread, 
In splendor beyond man's rude tread ! 
And o'er their pomp emerging far, 
The bride, like morning's virgin star. 
And soon along the eve may swim 
The chorus of the bridal hymn. 



Behhazzar. — Croly. 

'Mid jewelled roof and silken pall, 
Belshazzar on his couch was flung ; 

( ) A burst of thunder shook the hall — 
He heard — but 'twas no mortal tongue : 



BELSHAZZAR. 225 

(°) King of the East, the trumpet calls, 

That calls thee to a tyranVs grave ; 
A curse is on thy palace walls — 

A curse is on thy guardian wave ; 

6 A surge is in Euphrates' bed, 

That never filled its bed hefore ; 
A surge, that, ere the morn be red, 

Shall load with death its haughty shore. 

fc Behold a tide of Persian steel ! 

A torrent of the Median car ; 
Like flame their gory banners wheel ; 

(°°) Rise King, and arm thee for the war ! ' 

( =* ) Belshazzar gazed; ( — ) the voice was past — 

The lofty chamber filled with gloom ; 
But echoed on the sudden blast, 

(<3 The rushing of a mighty plume. 

( — ) He listened ; all again was still ; 

He heard no chariot's iron clang ; 
He heard the fountain's gushing rill, 

The breeze that through the roses sang. 

He slept : in sleep wild murmurs came ; 

A visioned splendor fired the sky ; 
He heard Belshazzar's taunted name ; 

He heard again the Prophet cry — 

(°) ' Sleep, Sultan ! 'tis thy final sleep ; 

Or wake, or sleep, the guilty dies. 
The wrongs of those who watch and weep, 

Around thee and thy nation rise. 

He started, 'mid the battle's yell, 
He saw the Persian rushing on ; 



226 MODULATION. 

He saw the flames around him swell ; 
( ) ThouVt ashes ! King of Babylon. 



The Tournament. — Anon. 

Twilight on the west was sleeping, 
Stars were sliding down the sky, 

Morn upon the hills was peeping 
With a blue, half-opening eye. 

When a silver trumpet sounded, 

And, beside the castle wall, 
Many a ribboned jennet bounded, — 

Sparkled many a lance-head tall. 

Then, before the portal arch, 

Every horseman checked the rein, 

Till the rocket for their march, 
Flaming up the sky was seen. 

Like a wave of steel and gold, 

Swept the lovely pageant on ; 
Many a champion young and bold 

Bearing lance and gonfalon. 

At their sight arose the roar 

From the people gazing round ; 

Proudly came the squadrons four, 
Prancing up the tilting ground. 

( ) Hark ! the trumpet long and loud ! — 

' Tis the signal for the charge ! 
(°) Now with hoofs the earth is ploughed. 

(==) Now are clashed the lance and targe. 

Noon has come, — the warriors rest, 
Each dismounting from his barb ; 



THE MIDNIGHT WRECK. 227 

Loosening each his feathery crest, 
Weighty sword, and steely garb. 

As they wander round the plain, 

Sparkle cross and collar gemmed, 
Sparkle knightly star and chain, 

On their tunics golden-seamed. 

Still again the trumpets play, 

And the mail again is worn ; 
And the ring is borne away, 

And the Moorman's turban torn. 

Closes then the tournament ; 

And the noble squadrons four, 
Proudly on the banquet-tent, 

March by Turia's flowery shore. 

Lovely as the evening sky, 

Ere the golden sun is down, 
March Grenada's chivalry, 

Champions of the Church and Crown I 



The Midnight Wreck. — Anon. 

The sun went down in beauty — but the skies 

Were wildly changed. — It was a dreadful night — 

No moon was seen, in all the heavens, to aid 

Or cheer the loan and sea-beat mariner : — 

Planet nor guiding star broke through the gloom ; — 

But the blue lightnings glared along the waters, 

As if the Fiend had fired his torch to light 

Some wretches to their graves. — The tempest winds 

Raving came next, and in deep hollow sounds — 

Like those the spirits of the dead do use 



228 MODULATION. 

When they would speak their evil prophecies — 

Muttered of death to come ; then came the thunder, 

Deepening and crashing as 'twould rend the world ; 

Or, as the Deity passed aloft in anger 

And spoke to man — ( ) despair! — The ship was tossed 

And now stood poised upon the curling billows, 

And now midst deep and watry chasms — that yawned 

As 'twere in hunger — sank. — Behind there came 

Mountains of moving water, — with a rush 

And sound of gathering power, that did appal 

The heart to look on ; — terrible cries were heard ; 

Sounds of despair, —some like a mother's anguish — 

Some of intemperate, dark and dissolute joy — 

Music and horrid mirth — but unallied 

To joy ; — and madness might be heard amidst 

The pauses of the storm — and when the glare 

Was strong, rude savage men were seen to dance 

In frantic exultation on the deck, 

Though all was hopeless. — (°) Hark ! the ship has struck, 

And the forked light'ning seeks the arsenal ! 

'Tis fired — and mirth and madness are no more ! 

'Midst columned smoke, deep red, the fragments fly 

In fierce confusion — splinters and scorched limbs, 

And burning masts, and showers of gold, — torn from 

The heart that hugged it even till death. Thus doth 

Sicilian Etna in her angry moods, 

Or Hecla 'mid her wilderness of snows, 

Shoot up its burning entrails, with a sound 

Louder than e'er the Titans uttered from 

Their subterranean caves, when Jove enchained 

Them, daring and rebellious. The black skies 

Shocked at the' excess of light, returned the sound 

In frightful echoes, — as if an alarm 

Had spread through all the elements :—then came 



THE SPIRIT OF POESY. 229 



A horrid silence — deep — unnatural — like 
The quiet of the grave ! 



The Spirit of Poesy. 

Art thou returned again ? The laboring breast, 
The full and swelling soul, the throbbing brain, 
Are signs of thee ; by these wert thou confessed 
In the fierce glow of summer, in the wane 
Of autumn, in the cloud and hurricane 
Of winter, and the changeful dawn of spring. 
Thou art returned, for fancy wakes the strain ; 
And as I bend me to her summoning, 
Thy spell is o'er me cast, thy visions round me cling. 

( ) Whence, and what art thou ? I have felt thy power 
When my soul wished not for thee. I have sought 
And found thee not. In life's aspiring hour, 
Courted and worshipped to my youthful thought 
No uiterance thou gavest. ( — ) I had wrought 
The chaplet for my fair one ; I had strung 
The rosary of hope, and love had taught 
My heart love's rhetoric ; yet never hung 
Thy charm upon my lips, thy numbers on my tongue. 

I courted thee no longer, — for the tomb 
Made havoc of my hopes, and I became 
The sport and prey of sorrow; but in gloom 
And solitude, in misery and shame, 
In every feeling that unnerves the frame, 
My impulse was upon me : then arose 
My first and rude attempt ; then didst thou claim 
Thy long rejected suppliant, and disclose, 
In simple humble strain, the discant of his woes. 

20 



230 MODULATION. 

I will not, cannot flee thee ! Thou must be 
As present on the full and noisy mart, 
As in the desert ; upon plain or sea, 
On wold, or mountain, of myself be part. 
T cannot flee thee ! Round this widowed heart 
Cling, if thou wilt, but spare thy wearied slave ! 
Exert thy nobler power, thy greater heart ; 
Bid the vain world resume whate'er it gave, — 
But speak of brighter hopes, — of bliss beyond the grave. 



A Church Yard. — Wilson. 

How sweet and solemn, all alone, 
With reverend step, from stone to stone 
In a small village church-yard lying, 
O'er intervening flowers to move- 
Arid as we read the names unknown, 
Of young and old, to judgment gone, 
And hear, in the calm air above, 
Time onwards swiftly flying, 
To meditate, in Christian love, 
Upon the dead and dying! 
Across the silence seem to go 
With dream-like motion, wavery, slow, 
And shrouded in their folds of snow, 
The friends we loved long, long ago ! 
Gliding across the sad retreat, 
How beautiful their phantom feet ! 
What tenderness is in their eyes, 
Turned where the poor survivor lies, 
'Mid monitory sanctities ! 
What years of vanquished joy are fanned 
From one uplifting of that hand 



THE CHURCH YARD. 231 

la its white stillness ! When the shade 
Doth glimmeringly in sunshine fade 
From our embrace, how dim appears 
This world's life through a mist of tears ! 
Vain hopes ! Wild sorrows ! Needless fears ! 

( — ) Such" is the scene around me now : — 

A little church-yard, on the brow 

Of a green pastoral hill; 

Its sylvan village sleeps below, 

Arid faintly, here, is heard the flow 

Of Wood burn's summer rill ; 

A place where all things mournful meet, 

And, yet, the sweetest of the sweet J — 

The stillest of the still ! 

What lulling sound, and shadow cool, 

Hangs half the darkened church-yard o'er, 

From thy green depths, so beautiful. 

Thou gorgeous sycamore t 

Oft hath the lowly wine and bread, 

Been blest beneath thy murmuring tent; 

Where many a bright and hoary head, 

Bowed at that awful sacrament 

Now all beneath the turf are laid, 

On which they sat and sung and prayed. 

Alone that consecrated tree 

Ascends the tapering spire, that seems 

To lift the soul up silently 

To heaven, with all its dreams ! 

While in the belfry, deep and low, 

From his heaved bosom's purple gleams 

The dove's continuous murmurs flow, 

( c ) A dirge-like song, — half bliss, half wo,— 

The voice so lonely seems ! 



232 MODULATION. 

The Return from India. 
Written by an officer long resident in India, on his return to England. 
1 came, but they had passed away — 

The fair in form the pure in mind, — 
And like a stricken deer I stray, 

Where all are strange, and none are kind, — 
Kind to the worn, the wearied soul, 

That pants and struggles for repose : 
( ) O ! that my steps had reached the goal 

Where earthly sighs and sorrows close ! 

Years have passed o'er me like a dream, 

That leaves no trace on memory's page ! 
I look around me, and I seem 

Some relic of a former age. 
Alone, — as in a stranger clime, 

Where stranger voices mock my ear, 
I mark the lagging course of time, 

Without a wish — a hope — a fear ! 

Oh I had hopes — but they are fled I 

And I had fears, which proved but true I 
My ivishes too !— but they are dead, — 

And what have I with life to do ! 
'Tis but to bear a weary load, 

I may not, dare not, cast away ! 
To sigh for one small, still abode, 

Where I may sleep as sweet as they ! — 

As they, — the loveliest of their race \ 
Whose grassy tombs my sorrows steep 

Whose worth my soul delights to trace, — 
Whose very loss 'tis sweet to weep ; 

To weep beneath the silent moon, 

With none to chide, to hear, to see ! — 



THE WIDOWED MOTHER. 233 

Life can bestow no dearer boon, 

On one whom death disdains to free. 

I leave a world that knows me not, 

To hold communion with the dead ; 
And fancy consecrates the spot, 

Where fancy's softest dreams are shed, 
I see each shade, all silvery white— 

I hear each spirit's melting sigh ; 
I turn to clasp those forms of light, 

And the pale morning chills my eye. 

But soon the last dim morn shall rise, — 

The lamp of life burns feebly now. — 
When stranger hands shall close my eyes, 

x\nd smooth my cold and dewy brow. 
Unknown I live ; — so let me die ; 

Nor stone, nor monumental cross, 
Tell where his nameless ashes lie, 

Who sighed for gold, and found it dross. 



The Widowed Mother.— Wilson. 

Beside her babe, who sweetly slept, 
A widowed mother sat and wept 

O'er years of love gone by ; 
And as the sobs thick-gathering came, 
She murmured her dead husband's name 

'Mid that sad lullaby. 

Steadfastly as a star doth look 
Upon a little murmuring brook, 

She gazed upon the bosom 
And fair brow of her sleeping son, — 
20* 



234 MODULATION. 

' O merciful heaven ! when I am gone 
6 Thine is this earthly blossom ! ' 

While thus she sat, — a sunbeam broke 
Into the room ; — the babe awoke, 

And to her bosom leapt, — 
All tears at once were swept away, 
And said a face as bright as day, — 

c Forgive me ! that I wept ! ' 



An Arabian Song. — Mrs. Hemans. 
Founded on an anecdote related by an Oriental traveller. 
Away ! though still thy sword is red, 

With life-blood from my sire ; 
No drop of thine may now be shed, 
To quench my spirit's fire, 
Though on my heart, 'twould fall more blest, 
Than dews upon the desert's breast. 

I've sought thee 'midst the haunts of men, — 

Through the wide city's fanes ; 
I've sought thee by the lions's den, 
O'er pathless, boundless plains ; 
No step that tracked the burning waste, 
But I its lonely course have traced. 

Thy name hath been a baleful spell, 

O'er my dark bosom cast ; 
No thought may dream, no words may tell 
What there unseen hath passed : — 
This hollow cheek, this faded eye, 
Are seals of thee — behold, and fly ! 



AN ARABIAN SONG. 235 

Haste thee, and leave my threshold floor. 

Inviolate and pure ; 
Let not thy presence tempt me more — 
Man may not this endure. 
Away ! I bear a fettered arm, — 
A heart that burns — but must not harm ! 

Hath not my cup for thee been poured, 

Beneath the palm-tree shade ! 
Hath not soft sleep thy frame restored, 
Within my dwelling laid ! 
What though unknown — yet who shall rest 
Secure — if not the Arab's guest? 

Begone ! outstrip the fleet Gazelle ! 

The wind in speed subdue ; 

Fear cannot fly so swift, so well, 

As vengeance shall pursue ! 

And hate, like love — in parting pain, 

Smiles o'er one hope — we meet again. 

To-morrow— and the avenger's hand, 

The warrior's dart is free ; 
E'en now, no spot in all the land, 
Save thiS) had sheltered thee : — 
Let blood the monarch's hall profane, 
The Arab's tent must bear no stain ! 

Fly ! may the desert's fiery blast 

Avoid thy sacred way, 
And fettered, till thy steps be past, 
Its whirlwinds sleep to-day : — 
I would not, that thy doom should be 
Assigned by Heaven, to aught but me. 



236 MODULATION. 

Balak and Balaam. — Puxci. 

Upon the hill the Prophet stood ; 
King Balak in the rocky vale, 
Around him, like a fiery flood, 
Flashed to the Sun his men of mail. 

8 Now Curse, or die ' — The gathering roar 
Around him, like a tempest, came ; 
Again the altar streamed with gore ; 
And blushed again the sky with flame. 

The Prophet was in prayer ; he rose, 
His mantle from his face he flung ; 
He listened, where the mighty foes 
To Heaven their evening anthem sung. 

He saw their camp, like endless clouds, 
Mixed with the horizon's distant blue ; 
Saw on the plain their marshalled crowds ; 
Heard the high strain their trumpets blew. 

8 Be Israel cursed,' was in his soul, 
But on his lip the wild words died ; 
He paused, till on its myriads stole 
The night ; again the * Curse' he tried. 

8 How shall I curse whom God haih blessed ? 
With whom he dwells, with whom shall dwell ! ' 
He clasped his pale hands on his breast, 
8 Then, be thou blest, O Israel ! ' 

The Prophet ceased in awe ; a Star • 
Rose brightly o'er the boundless plain, 
Flashing on Balak's marshalled war, 
On mighty Israel's fartherest vane. 



HOMILY OF CHRYSOSTOM. 237 

And sweet and solemn echoes flowed 
From lips of more than mortals given ; 
Till in the central cope it glowed, 
Then vanished in the heights of Heaven ! 



Homily of Chrysostom. 

"'Vanity of vanities ; and all is vanity.' 

" If ever there was a time more adapted than another for 
the application of these emphatic words, it is most assuredly 
the present moment. Where is the splendor that environed 
the consul ? where are the honors, where are the imperial 
distinctions that attended him ? are the festive hours of his re- 
pasts to return no more ? are the days of his rejoicing depart- 
ed ? where are his choristers ? where are his musicians? has 
a mournful silence succeeded to the applause of the circus ? 
to the loud acclamations of innumerable spectators ? a sudden 
blast has withered the lofty tree, despoiled it of all its leaves 
and flowing honors, and palsied the naked branches. Where 
is now your late concourse of summer friends ? where is the 
lengthening procession of your parasites ? The felicity you 
enjoyed has passed away as the dream that vanishes at the 
dawn of day : it has passed away like the beauty of the ver- 
nal flower ; it has passed away like an airy vapor before the 
sun ; it has passed away like a cloud of dust that is scattered 
by the wind. 'Vanity of vanities — all is vanity!' These 
emphatic words should be proclaimed in all public places ; 
they should be inscribed upon the walls of every mansion ; 
they should be imprinted on our garments ; but they should 
be principally engraved upon our hearts. 

" How repeatedly have I said to you, Eutropius, that riches 
are fugitive slaves ! experience now informs you that they are 
homicides, since they are the authors of that impending dan- 
ger which threatens your existence. And to avoid being in- 



238 MODULATION. 

volved in the same calamity, your parasite companions and 
adulators, and they who experienced the beneficial part of your 
power, behold ! they have all abandoned you ; while we ob- 
serve a conduct of a different tendency : we who, in the day 
of your prosperity, patiently endured the pressure of your ty- 
ranny, in the day of your misfortune protect you with all our 
authority. The holy religion you have insulted and oppress- 
ed offers you an asylum, receives you into her arms, and holds 
you to her bosom. I do not use this language by way of ex- 
ulting over the enemy, who is grovelling in the dust, but to 
strengthen those who stand ; not to inflame the wound that 
now is bleeding, but to stimulate the attention of those who 
have yet received no wound ; not to plunge into the roaring 
waves the man who is shipwrecked, but to instruct those who 
sail with prosperous winds to escape from being exposed to 
the same calamity. 

"There is little occasion for the parade of words, when the 
presence of the disgraced fugitive so forcibly describes his 
misfortune. Most of you assisted yesterday at the strange 
spectacle exhibited in this temple ; you beheld when the Im- 
perial guards came to arrest the fallen minister, how eagerly 
he flew to yon sanctuary, and embraced the sacred vases ! a 
deathlike paleness was diffused over his countenance, a chill- 
ing terror convulsed his frame ; his voice burst out at intervals 
into broken accents. I say not this for the purpose of adding 
to the mass of his misfortune, but to quicken your sensibility, 
and induce your compassion to entertain the benevolent idea, 
that his punishment has already transcended his crime. Is 
there any person present who inwardly reproaches me for 
holding out a protecting hand to that unhappy criminal ? 
Does it appear inconsistent, that he should find security in that 
temple, whose sacred worship he was ambitious to annihilate ? 
Rather think with me that it redounds to the glory of God, 
that so formidable an enemy should be compelled to acknow- 
ledge the power and the forbearance of the Church ! This 



COURT CHARACTER. 239 

venerable matron, like a tender mother, covers him with her 
garment from the indignation of the emperor, and the vehe- 
mence of public hatred. A clemency of this distinguished 
nature reflects an additional lustre on that blazing altar. To 
these eyes never did yon altar appear more resplendent or 
more tremendous than at this moment, when I behold that lion 
trembling at its feet." 



Court character. — The Abbe de Soule. 

" Is not the gayest apprehension excited at the name of the 
court ? Does not it present itself to the mind as the temple 
of voluptuousness ? This image, however, resembles more 
the world than the court. He who enters the precincts of this 
palace, comes not in pursuit of pleasure ; comes not to exhi- 
bit his own greatness : the sun-beams of royalty overwhelm 
every other splendor. The sovereign demands and receives 
exclusively, every obeisance, every homage : the semi-deities 
of the world are here blended with that servile crowd who in 
every other place accumulate incense on their altars. The 
great depose at the portal of this habitation their claims to 
rank and titles : they resign their honors, in order to resume 
them when they depart. Ambition and interest usher in the 
visitors of this mansion, and while they are excited by the gau- 
dy visions of success, they are constrained by the presence of 
the sovereign, and by the watchful eye of concurring expec- 
tants. Thus it is, that out of the bosom of the same nation 
arises another nation different in manners and in modes of ex- 
pression, while in the pursuit of their wishes they are guided 
by an artful duplicity, whose purport is to deceive. The 
courtiers seem occupied with trifles, and consigned to care- 
less dissipation, while they are only influenced by the hopes 
of aggrandizement, only solicitous to- make their defects ap- 
pear accomplishments, and only careful to spread over their 



240 MODULATION* 

vices the most attractive coloring. Mark how they endeavor 
to supply the language of truth and the sentiments of friend- 
ship with the accents of artifice and the caresses of simulation. 
Behold how they irradiate the countenance of Disappointment 
with smiles, and smooth the rude aspect of Hatred with the 
polish of affability. Observe how they wear the deportment 
of humility and affection before those persons whose charac- 
ters they secretly ridicule and degrade. A spectator would 
be naturally led to think, from the appearance of such preve- * 
nient attentions, from such an intercourse of mutual professions, 
that this splended concourse of the great formed one harmo- 
nious family, whose interest flowed in one channel. But re- 
move the veil of simulation, and you will behold a throng of 
jealous and deep-designing rivals, who are intent on each 
other's destruction ; whose acts of treachery and perfidious- 
ness would excite our abhorrence, did they not possess the 
art of fascinating our judgment and of conciliating our indul- 
gence with our disapprobation. " 



Career of Bossuet. 

Bossuet's talents for the pulpit disclosed themselves almost 
from his infancy. He was announced as a phenomenon of 
early oratory at the hotel de Rambouillet, where merit of all 
kinds was summoned to appear, and was judged of, well or ill. 
He there, before a numerous and chosen assembly, made a 
sermon on a given subject, almost without preparation, and 
with the highest applause. The preacher was only sixteen 
years old, and the hour was eleven at night ; which gave oc- 
casion to Voltiare, who abounded in plays of words, to say, 
that he had never heard so early or so late a sermon. 

Together with such rare talents for eloquence, nature had 
endowed Bossuet with a prodigious memory. He alone, with- 
out reckoning many other great men, would suffice lo refute 



ADDRESS OF BOSSUET TO THE KING. 241 

the trite axiom concerning the antipathy between the memory 
and the judgment ; an axiom repeated with complacency by 
persons who flatter themselves that nature has given them in 
judgment what it has denied them in memory. 

Destined by taste and character to excel in eloquence and 
controversy, Bossuet bore, as it were, the impress of talents? 
suited to the orator, and the theologian. The tone of the pul- 
pit changed as soon as he appeared. To the indecencies; 
which debased, and the bad taste which degraded it, he sub- 
stituted the force and dignity which became christian morality.. 
He did not write his sermons, or, rather, he wrote them only- 
in an abridged form. After meditating profoundly on his; 
subject, he threw upon paper the principal heads ; and some- 
times he put down, one after another, different expressions of 
the same thought, of which, in the heat of action, he seized 1 
that which first offered itself to the impetuosity of his career.. 



Address of Bossuet to the King. 

Time, says St. Austin, is a feeble imitation of eternity, and, 
it endeavors to supply the want of consistency, by succession :: 
when one day is passed, another succeeds so exactly similar,, 
that we do not regret what we have lost ; and thus it is that, 
time deludes us, and conceals from us its rapidity. A long, 
reach of his course will, however, discover the deception: tha 
advancing infirmities of age bear testimony that a great por- 
tion of our existence is already ingulfed in his rapid stream.. 
In this visible depredation of our better days, and even while? 
time is daily despoiling the human form, it still affects to imi- 
tate eternity. For as it is the characteristic of eternity to* 
continue things as they are, so time acts its feeble imitation by 
gradual advances, by leading us through a gently sloping, im~ 

21 



242 MODULATION. 

perceptible descent, to the shades of death. If still you ob- 
stinately persevere in the path of vice, let me ask what it is 
that urges you to this infatuated conduct? Do you foresee 
that, on some future day, you will meet with a more favorable 
occasion? Do you expect a gospel more accommodating? 
a judge less severe? Do you expect another paradise? 
another hell ? When the passion that is now the tyrant of 
your heart, shall have quitted its possession, do you imagine 
you will be more at liberty ? Will not the satiated crime 
yield to a successor, and the second to a third, and so pro- 
gressively, till the last link of iniquity will be fastened to 
your coffin ? 

Illustrious monarch ! you whom we behold indefatigably 
occupied with the duties of your exalted station, I offer you 
this day an employment of a more exalted nature — the ser- 
vice of God ! For what, Sir, will it avail you to have lifted 
so high the glory of your country ? to have stretched her ce- 
lebrity to the remotest parts of the globe ? that you have ren- 
dered the most ancient kingdom the most formidable ? that 
you have occupied the world with your name ? unless you 
direct your mind to works which are of estimation in the sight 
of God, and which deserve to be recorded in the book of life. 

I mentioned in a former part of this discourse the terrors 
which are to usher in the last day, when the Saviour of the 
world will appear in tremendous majesty, and send judgment 
unto victory. Reflect, if the stars are then doomed to fall, if 
the glorious canopy of the heavens is to be rolled together 
as a scroll, how will those works endure which are construc- 
ted by man ? See the fiery destruction rushing on towns, 
fortresses, citidels, palaces, till the whole globe becomes a 
general conflagration, and shortly after a mass of cinders. 

Can you, Sir, affix any real grandeur to what must one day 
be blended with the dust ? Elevate then your mind, and fill 
the page of your life with other records, with other annals. 



FORGIVENESS OF INJURIES. 24i> 

Forgiveness of Injuries. — Massillon. 

What less equivocal mark can be given, of animosity 
against your brother, than that of being unable to endure his 
presence ? It is the very extreme of hatred and of rancor. 
For many settled hatreds exist, which yet are kept under a 
kind of check; are, as far as possible, concealed, and even 
borrow the outward semblance of friendship and of decency ; 
and though unable to reconcile the heart to duty, yet have 
sufficient command over themselves, to preserve appearances 
to the world. But your hatred is beyond all restraint : it 
knows neither prudence, caution, nor decency ; and you pre- 
tend to persuade us that it is now no more 1 You still show 
the most violent proofs of animosity, and even these you 
would have us to consider as the indubitable signs of a Chris- 
tian and sincere love ! 

Are Christians made to live estranged, and unconnected 
with each other? Christians! The members of one body, 
the children of the same Father, the disciples of the same 
Master, the inheritors of the same kingdom, the stones of the 
same building, the particles of the same mass! Christians! 
The participation of one same spirit, of one same redemption, 
of one same righteousness ! Christians ! Sprung from one 
bosom, regenerated in the same water, incorporated in the 
same church, redeemed by one ransom, are they made to 
fly each other, to make a punishment of seeing each other, 
and to be unable to endure each other? All religion binds, 
unites us together ; the sacraments in which we join, the pub- 
lic prayers and thanksgivings which we sing, the ceremonies 
of that worship in which we pride ourselves, the assembly of 
believers at which we assist ; all these externals are only 
symbols of that union which ties us together. All religion 
itself, is but one holy society, a divine communication of 
prayers, of sacrifices, of works, and of well-doings. Every- 
thing connects and unites us, everything tends to make of our 



244 MODULATION. 

brethren and of us, only one family, one body, one heart, and 
one soul ; and you believe that you love your brother, and 
that you preserve, with respect to him, all the most sacred 
ties of religion, while you break through even those of society, 
and you cannot endure even his presence? 

I say, much more, how shall you indulge the same hope 
with him? For, by that common hope, you are eternally to 
live with him, to make his happiness your own, to be happy 
with him, to be reunited with him in the bosom of God, and 
with him to sing the eternal praises of grace. Ah ! How 
could the hope of being forever united with him be the sweet- 
est consolation of your life, if it appear so desirable to live in 
separation from him, and if you find even his presence a 
punishment ? Renounce then the promises and all the hopes 
of faith; separate yourself as an accursed from the commu- 
nion of believers ; interdict to yourself the altar and the awful 
mysteries ; banish yourself from the assembly of the holy ; 
no longer come there to offer up your gifts and your prayers, 
since all these religious duties, supposing you in union with 
your brother, become derisions, if you be not so, depose 
against you in the face of the altars, and proclaim to you to 
quit the holy assembly as a publican, and a sinner. 



The dignity of the ministerial office. — R. Hall. 

If the dignity of an employment is to be estimated, not by 
the glitter of external appearances, but by the magnitude and 
duration of the consequences involved in its success, the min- 
isterial function is an high and honorable one. 

That office cannot be mean, whose end is the recovery of 
man to his original purity and happiness — the illumination of 
the understanding— the communication of truth — and the pro- 
duction of principles which will bring forth fruit unto ever- 
lasting life. 



DIGNITY OF THE MINISTERIAL OFFICE. 245 

Here alone is certainty and durability : for, however highly 
we may esteem the arts and sciences, which polish our spe- 
cies, and promote the welfare of society ; whatever reverence 
we may feel, and ought to feel, for those laws and institutions 
whence it derives the security necessary for enabling it to 
enlarge its resources and develope its energies, we cannot 
forget that these are but the embellishments of a scene, we 
must shortly quit— the decorations of a theatre, from which 
the eager spectators and applauded actors must soon retire. 

The end of all things is at hand. Vanity is inscribed on 
every earthly pursuit, on all sublunary labor ; its materials, 
its instruments, and its objects will alike perish. An "incura- 
ble taint of mortality has seized upon, and will consume them 
ere long. The acquisitions derived from religion, the graces 
of a renovated mind, are alone permament. 

How high and awful a function is that which proposes to 
establish in the soul an interior dominion — to illuminate its 
powers by celestial light — and introduce it to an intimate, in- 
effable, and unchanging alliance with the Father of Spirits. 

What an honor to be employed as the instrument of con- 
ducting that mysterious process by which men are born of 
God ; to expel from the heart the venom of the old serpent ; 
to purge the conscience from invisible stains of guilt ; to re- 
lease the passions from the bondage of corruption, and invite 
them to soar aloft into the regions of uncreated light and 
beauty ; to say to the prisoners go forth, to them that are in 
darkness, show yourselves ! 

These are the fruits which arise from the successful dis- 
charge of the Christian ministry; these the effects of the 
Gospel, wherever it becomes the power of God unto salva- 
tion ; and the interests which they create, the joy which they 
diffuse, are felt in other worlds. 
21* 



246 MODULATION. 

CalvirCs Speech, on his return from Exile. 

If you desire to have me for your pastor, correct the disor- 
der of your lives. If you have with sincerity recalled me 
(from my exile, banish the crimes and debaucheries which 
^prevail among you. 

I certainly cannot behold, within your walls here, without 
?the most painful displeasure, discipline trodden under foot, 
and crimes committed with impunity. I cannot possibly live 
in a place so grossly immoral. 

Vicious souls are too filthy to receive the purity of the 
Gospel, and the spiritual worship which I preach to you. A 
'life stained with sin is too contrary to Jesus Christ to be tol- 
erated. 

I consider the principal enemies of the Gospel to be, not 
the pontiff of Rome, nor heretics, nor seducers, nor tyrants, 
but such bad Christians ; because the former exert their rage 
out of the church, while drunkenness, luxury, perjury, blas- 
phemy, impurity, adultery, and other abominable vices over- 
throw my doctrine, and expose it defenceless to the rage of 
our enemies. 

Rome does not constitute the principal object of my fears. 
Still less am I apprehensive from the almost infinite multitude 
of monks. The gates of hell, the principalities and powers 
of evil spirits, disturb me not at all. 

I tremble on account of other enemies, more dangerous ; 
and I dread abundantly more those carnal covetousnesses, 
those debaucheries of the tavern, of the brothel, and of gam- 
ing ; those infamous remains of ancient superstition, those 
mortal pests, the disgrace of your town, and the shame of the 
reformed name. 

Of what importance is it to have driven away the wolves 
from the fold, if the pest ravage the flock? Of what use is a 
dead faith, without good works? Of what importance is even 



SPEECH OF PKINCE GAL1TZ1N. 247 

truth itself, where a wicked life belies it, and actions make 
words blush ? 

Either command me to abandon a second time your town, 
and let me go and sofien the bitterness of my afflictions in a 
new exile, or let the severity of the laws reign in the church. 
Re-establish there the pure discipline. Remove from within 
your wails, and from the frontiers of your state, the pest of 
your vices, and condemn them to a perpetual banishment. 



Speech of Prince Galitzin of Russia. 

Were it necessary to celebrate the opening of this anni- 
versary with a triumphal song, we might well now sing, 
' Praise the Lord, O Russia, praise thy God : for he hath 
strengthened the bars of thy gates ; he hath blessed thy chil- 
dren within thee. He maketh peace in thy borders, and fill- 
eth thee with the finest of the wheat. He sendeth forth his 
commandment upon earth; his word runneth very swiftly.' 

In these days of poverty and want, among many nations, 
our native land is protected by Almighty power. from without, 
and is internally blessed with plenty : with these earthly ad- 
vantages, the Lord is also opening the way for heavenly bless- 
ings. He is sending forth his commandment on earth, and 
causing his word to run very swiftly through the wide exten- 
ded regions of Russia. 

The report of the fourth year's transactions of this Bible 
Society, which is about to be read to this general meeting of 
the zealous promoters of the dissemination of the written 
word, will show with what rapidity this new plant is growing 
into a large tree. Already its roots extend from sea to sea : 
already many tribes and nations come and pluck the fruit of 
life from its boughs ; even the heathen desire it for their 
spiritual healing. The shade of its branches extends beyond 
the borders of Russia. From day to day our native land cov- 



248 MODULATION. 

ers it with nourishing clews ; the liberality of our sovereign, 
waters it like the early and the latter rain ; and, not unfre- 
quently, the wind of the Spirit, blowing whither it listeth, 
sendeth upon it a fructifying cloud from distant seas. 

Send forth, O Word of God, Jesus Christ, send forth thy 
word, even unto those who strive to stop its course ! Pene- 
trate their hearts with thy words, which are spirit and life, 
that they may be reconciled unto that book which containeth 
thy truth ! Increase the light of truth, and the flame of zeal 
and love among thy laborers in the world, (under whatever 
form they may administer the doctrine of thy kingdom,) ac- 
cording to the measure of thy gifts ; that at length all strife 
and opposition of man may cease, and every creature hearken 
lo the voice of thy word. 



Speech of Mr. Jay. 

The nations of Europe are now awake and active ; they 
have sent forth the Gospel into all lands, and its sound unto 
the ends of the earth. Their exertions are strenuous and un- 
remitted. They eagerly emulate each other in the glorious 
strife. And shall we alone be idle ? Blest as we are with 
opulence and ease, shall we be less grateful to Him who gives 
them, than nations wasted with war? 

Surely, Sir, we shall not refuse to run the race which is set 
before us, nor to contribute towards the cause of mankind. 
What charity can be greater, to what can there be stronger 
motives ? 

How many are there who thirst for military glory ; and 
and what sacrifices would they not make to obtain it ! We 
have long been spectators of the great tragedy which has 
been acted on the theatre of Europe, and our imaginations 
have become inflamed. 

We have beheld mighty hosts encountering each other ; 



SPEECH OF MR. JAY. 249 

desperate battles fought, and victories won. We think of the 
triumphant march, the blood-stained banner, the captured ar- 
tillery, and all the pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious 
war, till many among us would willingly face danger and 
death itself, to acquire a renown equal to that of some favor- 
ite hero. 

Yet the laurel of the conqueror grows only in a soil which 
is moistened with blood. It is stained with the tears of the 
widow, and it thrives in the midst of desolation. Nor is it 
durable : amid all the annals of destruction, how few are the 
names which we remember and pronounce ! 

But is there glory which is pure and enduring, and which 
deserves to be sought ? Yes, the love of fame is a noble pas- 
sion, given us not to be extinguished, but to be used aright. 
There is a glory which a wise man will covet, which a good 
man will aspire to, which will follow him from this world to 
the next ; and there, in the presence of an assembled uni- 
verse of angels, and of just men made perfect, place a crown 
upon his brows that fadeth not away. 



PART III 
GESTURE. 



The subject of Gesture is discussed at length in the Rhetorical 
Reader, p. G7. A number of suggestions in regard to it are also placed 
in the Appendix to this work, together with directions for employing 
gesture which refer back to the selections of Part lit. 1 would re- 
commend that these be read with care, and that the exercises on Ges- 
ture, which 1 have placed in the appendix, be carefully practised un- 
til they become familiar. 

For the convenience of the speaker, I subjoin a key, which may 
afford some assistance in determining the proper place and kind of 
gesture. Such a key is only useful of course, until the habit of ges- 
ture is formed, after which nature and feeling alone can be relied up- 
on as guides. 

(e.) emphatic gesture. (IT?) pointing gesture. 

(I.) left hand. f)~) 

(»!) bSh^ndt (*£) \ ? «^™* of fr*« 

(/.)feet. (4/.) J 

(A.) head. (c/ ) fist clinched. 

(bo.) body. (ret.) step back. 

( e U) e y es > (adv.) step forward. 

This scale is applied to but few of the selections, merely to illustrate 
its use, as it is desirable that speakers should employ it according to 
their own taste, after studying the principles of gesture in the Ap- 
pendix. 

Our Country ] s Destiny. — Prof. B. B. Edwards. 
The future history of the United States is a subject of deep 
interest. We are come to a very important period in our 
course. The strength of our political system is beginning to 
be tried. The tendencies of our institutions are becoming ap- 
parent. The elements, which form a general national char- 
acter, are ^combining and Coalescing. It is emphatically a 
clay of *trial. Everything is subjected to a rigid scrutiny. 
Merely ^prescriptive rights are abandoned. Reliance upon 
authority is given up. Such being the condition of the coun- 

* (e. r.) 



our country's destiny. 251 

try, it is not an inappropriate question, What is to be done ? 
There are local divisions, civil strifes, rival religious denomi- 
nations, great questions pending in political economy, inter- 
esting relations with other portions of the world, and bound- 
less ^resources for good or evil. What then are the duties 
which devolve on the American citizen ? 

It is very obvious, that in the passion for novelty and change, 
we are to see that we do not give up anything which is truly 
valuable. We ought to remain firm on those great principles 
of politics and education, morals and religion, which have been 
tried, and have not been found wanting. 

It is not true that the state of public morals and virtue is as 
elevated as that of the individuals who compose a community. 
We do that in a collective capacity, which we should not 
*dare to do as ^friends or ^neighbors. Conscience, and the 
faith of solemn compact, are often voted away, when personal 
honor, or a mere verbal engagement are sacredly remember- 
ed and redeemed. When a great principle is at stake, we 
must learn to dismiss all minor differences, to forget all local 
attachments, to abjure utterly every selfish consideration. 
W r hat is a party, what is a religious ^denomination, when a 
fundamental law of right or justice is at issue ? 

It is very evident, that great efforts are required to maintain 
the due ascendency of mind over matter. The accumulation 
of wealth is the object which absorbs the attention of all clas- 
ses of our community. Almost the entire populution of the 
country, are earnestly engaged in the development and em- 
ployment of the physical resources of the nation. There is a 
boundless ^selfishness — a restless and unappeasable desire to 
amass *riches. This is the general theme of conversation in 
the public stage-coach ; it is the reiterated topic of recom- 
mendation in official documents; it is the foundation of irrita- 
ting comparisons between different portions of the country ; 
it causes the desecration of the ever to be hallowed Sabbath ; 

* («. r.) 



252 GESTURE. 

it stimulates the waking hours and animates the dreams of the 
private citizen. Mammon is the god of this country. The at- 
tainment of wealth is pursued, not as a means, but as an end. 
Our government do not employ the abundant resources of the 
nation, in extending the boundaries of science and of civiliza- 
tion, but rather in the purchase of more land. Individuals, as 
a general thing, do not amass wealth for the sake of becoming 
Maecenases, or Thorntons, or Boudinots, but for some person- 
al and selfish consideration. Now this insatiate worldliness 
ought to be counteracted. Our country is ruined if it becomes 
too prosperous. Wealth, with all its concomitants and adjuncts, 
will not save us. Rocky coasts and rough fields, with virtuous 
hearts, are a richer inheritance than the golden mines of both 
hemispheres. It is the extension of the empire of *mind 
which we need. It is the cultivation of the domestic graces 
and accomplishments. It is intellectual and moral glory, after 
which we must aspire. We must attain the enviable honor of 
being an intellectual and religious nation. In renouncing the 
crowns and coronets, the pomps and vanities of the old icorld, 
let us not devote ourselves to that which is infinitely more 
sordid. 



Value of Self-educated young men in the United States. — 
Prof. B. B. Edwards. 

When the powers of the world to come are visible, when 
there is an awakened and tender conscience and clearness of 
perception, when men feel deeply that they are spiritual and 
immotal beings, then is a most favorable time to make sure 
of other great interests. The moral sense may be brought to 
bear on the whole circle of duties. Liberality of feeling and 
comprehensiveness of mind may be successfully inculcated. 

But in order to fulfil these great trusts, and to accomplish 



VALUE OF SELF-EDUCATED YOUNG MEN IN THE U. S. 253 

these high purposes, we must bring some new powers into the 
field. An hitherto unknown agency must be employed. All 
the ordinary and accustomed means of changing public opin- 
ion, are not sufficient. We have not men enough of the pro- 
per description in this country. A new order of cultivated 
intellect is greatly needed. A limited number of eminent 
scholars, such as Alexandria, and Athens, and London in the 
days of A'nne, contained, is not demanded. A multitude of 
learned men in the abstract sciences, such as Paris and some 
of the German cities embrace, would not accomplish the work. 
Neither would the parish schools and universities of Scotland 
supply the deficiency. They nurture metaphysical acumen, 
and strength of reasoning, indeed, but frequently at the ex- 
pense of benevolent feeling and religious principle. Neither 
are the excellent common school systems of the northern 
States of this country, however great the blessings which they 
diffuse, equal to the enterprise to be accomplished. 

A class of men, which will be fully adequate to the exigen- 
cy, may be found in great numbers in this country. They 
compose the young men who have vigor of body, great strength 
and firmness of character, an ardent desire to acquire know- 
ledge, a disposition to employ their powers in the diffusion of 
knowledge, with little or no pecuniary resources. They con- 
stitute a portion of the members of our colleges. Probably 
from fifty to seventy-five thousand of this class of young men, 
are pursuing, with various interest, the study of the sciences 
and of literature at the lyceums, which are happily extending 
into all parts of the country. Several thousand more are en- 
gaged in a course of study, which is habitually connected with 
manual labor. A still smaller class, but amounting to nearly 
two thousand, are under the patronage of various societies for 
the promotion of ministerial education. So that in all the clas- 
ses enumerated, there is, doubtless, at least one hundred thou- 
sand young men, in the United States, who are in a course of 
self-education. 

22 



254 GESTURE. 



In this description of young men, there are materials of 
great value, which may he fashioned and moulded for im- 
portant public service. No other nation on earth is possessed 
of such a treasure. 



The burial of Christ.— Schauffler. 

Ideas can be written down and objects can be painted, but 
emotions yield neither to the pen nor to the brush. Every 
one must experience for himself what it is to spend a solitary 
hour in the solemn sepulchre of Christ. Gethsemane and Cal- 
vary are awful places. The one will melt you down with fear 
and fluctuating hope, the other with love and gratitude and 
sorrow. But the scenes there, are almost too tremendous ; 
the emotions which storm through your breast overmatch 
you ; deep calls upon deep ; Jehovah is passing by, in storm, 
earthquake and fire, and your thoughts are swallowed up be- 
fore they ripen. Yet these are truly precious exercises to 
the dead, paralysed soul of fallen man, and the very strokes 
of the electricity of heaven. But when you are awakened, 
terrified, warned, quickened, melted there, then, O then come, 
sit down in the cool, dusky sepulchre of Jesus ; shut out the 
world ; gather in every thought ; shut the door, and listen to 
the still small voice of Jehovah. Here, between these silent 
walls, time and space will vanish, and you will deceive your- 
self no more with ideas of great and small, and with fair 
promises of futurities that never come ; but as the starry, 
boundless firmament falls whole into your little eye at even, 
so shall eternity fall into your soul. Here, the storm of sins, 
passions, wishes, duties, and idle sorrows and idle joys will 
cease to roar; a deep calm will follow, and the unexplored 
ocean of your mind will reflect the countenance of heaven. 
O, it is a good, it is an awful place ! But if the place is one 
fit for solemn reflection, the scene is infinitely more so. Your 



THOUGHLESSNESS ON RELIGION. 255 

sepulchre is not empty. But one step from you there lies a 
corpse, there shines a pale and lifeless countenance that 
speaks worlds. Who is it ? Who : A youth — an innocent, 
a holy youth ! Ah, more than that, more than language can 
express. Why did he die so soon ? How did he die ? For 
whom ? Down with your face upon the cold, damp stone, 
and answer, — answer ! He was martyred to death, his soul 
is gone, and where ? — To heaven to prepare a place for you. 



Thoughtlessness on Religion. — Schauffler. 

I cannot let this opportunity pass by, without pointing my 
bearers to that thing diffused as the atmosphere, which brings 
a blot both upon the heart and intellect of men, and works 
the effectual ruin of the mass of sinners, — I mean thoughtless- 
ness on divine subjects. How many a great man has reflec- 
ted on almost every imaginable subject, save religion ! Na- 
poleon dies with the groan, " France in arms ! " and Nelson, 
rejoicing in the dreadful victory of Trafalgar, yields up his 
responsible spirit with the sigh, " Bless God, I have done my 
duty ! " Others filled to the brim with earthborn knowledge, 
die without the knowledge of Christ. But what is " France 
in arms ! " before the judge of all the earth ? Or the laws of 
the Olympian games and the Constitution of Great Britain, 
are they the law of heaven ? They are not. Look now at 
the mechanic, the merchant, the scholar, the politician, the 
soldier, the sailor ! Tell me, how many of them are in the 
habit of a prayerful contemplation of eternity, or care half as 
much for the knowledge of God as for skill in their trade. 
They rise up, they go to eating, to work, to reading, to meals 
again, to rest, to diversions and walks, to evening parties, and 
to sleep. It is one rolling chain of worldly pursuits and in- 
dulgences, from year to year, till death comes and closes the 
accounts ; their thoughts are anywhere but in their closets; 



256 GESTURE. 

away they go, like the fooPs eyes, to the ends of the earth. 
O, what a low, mean, daring, alarming wallowing in the mire 
of this world ! Lift up your countenance, immortal man ! 
There is a God in heaven, and you are living for .eternity I 
Lift it up ! lest you perish in the deep, polluting mire. 
Why will you perish under the open window of heaven } 
But let me ask you here, for I am preaching to you, and 
not to the people in China, and answer me now before 
God, the searcher of hearts, where is your hour of con* 
templation, and when do you shut out the world from your 
solitary closet, to soar up to the footsteps of the judgment-seat 
and to the threshold of heaven, or to descend to the gates of 
hell, to rouse your slumbering soul to a sense of your stupen- 
dous responsibility ? • Where is it, that hour, that eventful 
one out of the twentv-four ? 



The Cavern of the Tells. — Hemans. 

Swiss Tradition. 
Oh ! enter not yon shadowy cave, 
Seek not the bright spars there, 
Though the whispering pines that o'er it wave, 
Wilh freshness fill the air : 

For there the Patriot Three, 
In the garb of old array'd, 
By their native Forest-sea 
On a rocky couch are laid. 

The Patriot Three that met of yore 

Beneath the midnight sky, 
And leagued their hearts on the Grutli shore, 
In the name of liberty ! 

Now silently they sleep 

Amidst the hills they freed ; 
But their rest is only deep, 

Till their country's hour of need. 



THE CAVERN OF THE TELLS. 257 

They start not at the hunter's call, 

Nor the Lammer-geyer's cry, 
Nor the rush of a sudden torrent's fall, 
Nor the Lauvvine thundering by ! 

And the Alpine herdsman's lay, 
To a Switzer's heart so dear ! 
On the wild wind floats away, 
No more for them to hear. 

But when the battle-horn is blown 

Till the Schreckhorn's peaks reply, 
When the Jungfrau's cliffs send back the tone 
Through their eagles' lonely sky ; 

When spear-heads light the lakes, 
When trumpets loose the snows, 
When the rushing war-steed shakes 
The glacier's mute repose ; 

When Uri's beechen woods wave red 

In the burning hamlet's light — 
Then from the cavern of the dead, 
Shall the sleepers wake in might ! 

With a leap, like Tell's proud leap, 
When away the helm he flung,* 
And boldly up the steep 

From the flashing billow sprung! 

They shall wake beside their Forest-sea, 

In the ancient garb they wore 
When they link'd the hands that made us free, 
On the Grutli's moonlight shore ; 

And their voices shall be heard, 
And be answer'd with a shout, 

* The point of rock on which Tell leaped from the boat of Gessler 
is marked by a chapel, and called the Tellensprung. 

22* 



258 GESTURE. 



Till the echoing Alps are stirr'd, 
And the signal-fires blaze out. 



'*to 1J 



And the land shall see such deeds again 

As those of that proud day, 
When Winkelried, on Sempach's plain, 
Through the serried spears made way ; 

And when the rocks came down 

On the dark Morgarten dell, 
And the crowned casque's,* o'erthrown, 
Before our fathers fell ! 

For the Kiihreihen's f notes must r\ever sound 

In a land that wears a chain, 
And the vines on freedom's holy ground 
Untrampled must remain ! 

And the yellow harvest wave 

For no stranger's hand to reap, 
While within their silent cave 
The men of Grutli sleep ! 



Theseus. — Hemans. 

Ancient Greek Tradition. 
Know ye not when our dead 

From sleep to battle sprung ? 
— When the Persian charger's tread 

On their covering greensward rung ! 
When the trampling march of foes 

Had crushed their vines and flowers, 
When jewell'd crests arose 

Through the holy laurel-bowers, 

* Crowned hemfetSy as a distinction of rank, are mentioned in Si- 
mond's Switzerland. 

t The Ktthreihen, the celebrated Ranza des Vaches. 






THESEUS. 259 

When banners caught the breeze, 
When helms in sunlight shone, 

When masts were on the seas, 
And spears on Marathon. 

There was one, a leader crown'd, 

And arm'd for Greece that day ; 
But the falchions made no sound 

On his gleaming war-array. 
In the battle's front he stood, 

With his tall and shadowy crest ; 
But the arrows drew no blood 

Though their path was through his breast 

When banners caught the breeze, 
When helms in sunlight shone, 

When masts were on the seas, 
And spears on Marathon. 

His sword was seen to flash 

Where the boldest deeds were done ; 
But it smote without a clash ; 

The stroke was heard by none ! 
His voice was not of those 

That swelPd the rolling blast, 
And his steps fell hush'd like snows — 
'Twas the Shade of Theseus pass'd ! 
When banners caught the breeze, 
When helms in sunlight shone, 
When masts were on the seas, 
And spears on Marathon. 

Far sweeping through the foe, 

With a fiery charge he bore ; 
And the Mede left many a brow 

On the sounding ocean-shore. 



260 GESTUSE. 

And the foaming waves grew red, 
And the sails were crowded fast, 
When the sons of Asia fled, 

As the Shade of Theseus pass'd ! 

When banners caught the breeze, 
When helms in sunlight shone, 
When masts were on the seas, 
And spears on Marathon. 



The Crusaders Return. — Hemans. 

Rest, pilgrim, rest ! — thou 'rt from the Syrian land, 
Thou 'rt from the wild and wondrous east, I know 
By the long-withered palm-branch in thy hand, 
And by the darkness of thy sunburnt brow. 
Alas ! the bright, the beautiful, who part, 
So full of hope, for that far country's bourne ! 
Alas ! the weary and the changed in heart, 
And dimrrrM in aspect, who like thee return ! 

Thou 'rt faint — stay, rest thee from thy toils at last* 

Through the high chesnuts lightly plays the breeze, 

The stars gleam out, the Ave hour is passed, 

The sailor's hymn hath died along the seas. 

Thou 'rt faint and worn — hear'st thou the fountain welling 

By the gray pillars of yon ruin'd shrine ? 

Seest thou the dewy grapes, before thee swelling ? 

— He that hath left me train'd that loaded vine ! 

He was a child when thus the bower he wove, 
(Oh ! hath a day fled since his childhood's time ?) 
That I might sit and hear the sound I love, 
Beneath its shade — the convent's vesper-chime. 



THE CRUSADERS RETURN. 261 

And sit thou there ! — for he was gentle ever ; 
With his glad voice he would have welcomed thee, 
And brought fresh fruits to cool thy parch'd lips' fever — 
There in his place thou 'rt resting — where is he ? 

If I could hear that laughing voice again, 

But once again ! — how oft it wanders by, 

In the still hours, like some remember'd strain, 

Troubling the heart with its wild melody ! 

—Thou hast seen much, tired pilgrim ! hast thou seen 

In that far land, the chosen land of yore, 

A youth — my Guido — with the fiery mien, 

And the dark eye of this Italian shore ? 

The dark, clear, lightning eye ! — on Heaven and earth 
It smiled — as if man were not dust — it smiled ! 
The very air seem'd kindling with his mirth, 
And I — my heart grew young before my child ! 
My blessed child ! I had but him — yet he 
Fill'd all my home ev'n with o'erflowing joy, 
Sweet laughter, and wild song, and footstep free — 
— Where is he now ? — my pride, my flower, my boy ! 

His sunny childhood melted from my sight, 

Like a spring dew-drop — then his forehead wore 

A prouder look— his e3 r e a keener light — 

— I knew these woods might be his world no more ! 

He loved me — but he left me ! — thus they go, 

Whom we have rear'd, watch'd. bless'd, too much adored ! 

He heard the trumpet of the red-cross blow, 

And bounded from me, with his father's sword ! 

Thou weep'st — I tremble — thou hast seen the slain 

Pressing a bloody turf; the young and fair, 

With their pale beauty strewing o'er the plain 

Where hosts have met— speak ! answer ! — was he there ? 



262 GESTURE. 

Oh ! hath his smile departed ?— Could the grave 
Shut o'er those bursts of bright and tameless glee ! 
— No ! I shall yet behold his dark locks wave — 
That look gives hope — I knew it could not be ! 

Still weep'st thou, wanderer ? — some fond mother's glance 
O'er thee too brooded in thy early years — 
Think'st thou of her, whose gentle eye, perchance, 
Bathed all thy faded hair with parting tears ? 
Speak, for thy tears disturb me !— what art thou ? 
Why dost thou hide thy face, yet weeping on ? 
Look up ! — oh ! is it— that wan cheek and brow ! — 
Is it — alas ! yet joy ! my son, my son ! 



England'' s Dead. — Hemans. 

Son of the ocean isle ! 
Where sleep your mighty dead ? 
Show me what high and stately pile 
Is rear'd o'er Glory's bed. 

Go, stranger ! track the deep, 
Free, free, the white sail spread ! 
Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep, 
Where rest not England's dead. 

On Egypt's burning plains, 
By the pyramid o'ersway'd, 
With fearful power the noon-day reigns, 
And the palm-trees yield no shade. 

But let the angry sun 
From heaven look fiercely red, 
Unfelt by those whose task is done ! 
There slumber England's dead. 



England's dead. 263 



The hurricane hath might 
Along the Indian shore, 
And far, by Ganges' banks at night, 
Is heard the tiger's roar. 

But let the sound roll on ! 
It hath no tone of dread 
For those that from their toils are gone ; 
— There slumber England's dead. 

Loud rush the torrent-floods 
The western wilds among, 
And free, in green Columbia's woods, 
The hunter's bow is strung. 

But let the floods rush on ! 
Let the arrow's flight be sped ! 
Why should they reck whose task is done ? 
There slumber England's dead ! 

The mountain-storms rise high 
In the snowy Pyrenees, 
And toss the pine-boughs through the sky, 
Like rose-leaves on the breeze. 

But let the storm rage on ! 
Let the forest- wreaths be shed ! 
For the Roncesvalles' field is won, 
There slumber England's dead. 

On the frozen deep's repose 
'Tis a dark and dreadful hour, 
When round the ship the ice-fields close, 
To chain her with their power. 

But let the ice drift on ! 

Let the cold-blue desert spread ! 



264 GESTURE. 

Their course with mast and flag is done, 
There slumber England's dead. 

The warlike of the isles, 
The men of field and wave ! 
Are not the rocks their funeral piles, 
The seas and shores their grave ? 

Go, stranger ! track the deep, 
Free, free the white sail spread ! 
Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep, 
Where rest not England's dead. 



The man of Decision. — Foster. 

As the conduct of a decisive man is always individual, and 
often singular, he may expect some serious trials of courage. 
For one thing, he may be encountered by the strongest dis- 
approbation of many of his connections, and the censure of 
the greater part of the society where he is known. In this 
case, it is not a man of common spirit that can show himself 
just as at other times, and meet their anger in the same un- 
disturbed manner as he would meet some ordinary inclemen- 
cy of the weather ; that can, without harshness or violence 
continue to effect every moment some part of his design, 
cooly replying to each ungracious look and indignant voice, 
I am sorry to oppose you : I am not unfriendly to you, 
while thus persisting in what excites your displeasure ; it 
would please me to have your approbation and concurrence, 
and I think I should have them if you would seriously con- 
sider my reasons ; but meanwhile, I am superior to opinion, 
I am not to be intimidated by reproaches, nor would your fa- 
vor and applause be any reward for the sacrifice of my ob- 
ject. As you can do without my approbation, I can certainly 
do without yours; it is enough that I can approve myself, it 



THE MAN OF DECISION. 265 

is enough that I can appeal to the last authority in the crea- 
tion. Amuse yourselves, as you may, by continuing to cen- 
sure or to rail ; / must continue to act. 

The attack of contempt and ridicule is perhaps a still great- 
er trial of courage. It is felt by all to be an admirable things 
when it can in no degree be ascribed to the hardness of either 
stupidity or confirmed depravity, to sustain for a considerable 
time, or in numerous instances, the looks of scorn, or an un- 
restrained shower of taunts and jeers, with a perfect compo- 
sure, which shall immediately after, or even at the same time, 
proceed on the business that provokes all this ridicule. This 
invincibility of temper will often make even the scoffers them- 
selves tired of the sport ; they begin to feel that against such 
a man it is a poor sort of hostility to laugh. There is nothing 
that people are more ^mortified to spend in vain than their 
scorn, Till, however, a man becomes a veteran, he must 
reckon on sometimes meeting this trial ; and I instantly know 
— if I hear him anxiously reply to an important suggestion of 
any measure to be adopted. But will they not laugh at me ? 
— I know that he is not the person whom this essay attempts 
to describe. A man of the right kind would say, They *icill 
smile, they *will laugh, will they ? Much good may it do 
them. I have something else to do than to trouble myself 
about their mirth. I do not care if the whole neighborhood 
were to laugh in a chorus. I should indeed be sorry to see or 
*hear such a number of fools, but pleased enough to find that 
they did not consider me as one of their * stamp. The good 
to result from my project will not be less, because vain and 
shallow minds that cannot understand it, are diverted at it and 
at me. 

* (e. r.) 

23 



266 



GESTURE. 



Romantic Views. — Foster. 
The consideration of deluded calculations on effect of in- 
sufficient means, leads to a wide variety of particulars. Va- 
rious projects of a benevolent order come under this charge. 
Did y<>u ever listen 10 the discussion of plans for the civiliza- 
tion of barbarous nations without the intervention of conquest ? 
I have, with interest and with despair. That very many mil- 
lions of the species should form only a brutal adjunct to civili- 
zed and enlightened man, is a melancholy thing, notwithstand- 
ing the whimsical attempts of some ingenious men to represent 
the state of wandering savages as preferable to every other con- 
diiion of life ; a stale for w hich, no doubt, they would have been 
sincerely glad !o abandon their fame and proud refinements. 
But where are the means to reclaim these wretched beings 
into the civilized family of man ? A few examples indeed are 
found in history, o£ barbarous tribes being formed into weil- 
ordered and considerably enlightened states by one man, who 
began the attempt without any power but that of persuasion 
and perhaps delusion. There are other instances, of the suc- 
cess obtained by a small combination of men employing the 
same means ; as in the great undertaking of the Jesuits in South 
America. But have not these wonderful facts been far too few 
to be made a standard for the speculations of sober men ? 
And have they not also come to us with too little explanation 
to illustrate any general principles? To me it appears ex- 
tremely difficult to compiehend how ihe means recorded by 
hisiorians to have been employed by some of the unarmed 
eivilizers, could have produced so great an effect. In observ- 
ing the h-ilf civilized condition of a large part of the population 
of these more improved countries, and in reading what trav- 
ellers describe of the state and dispositions of the various or- 
ders of savages, it would seem a presumption unwarranted by 
anything we ever saw of the powers of the human mind, to 
suppose that any man, or any ten men now on earth, if land- 



ROMANTIC VIEWS. 267 

ed and left on a savage coast, would be able to transform a 
multitude of stupid or ferocious tribes into a community of 
mild intelligence and regular industry. We are therefore led 
to believe, that the few unaccountable instances conspicuous 
in the history of the world, of the success of one or a few men 
in this work, must have been the result of such a combination 
of favorable circumstances, co-operating with their genius and 
perseverance, as no other man can hope to experience. Such 
events seem like Joshua's arresting the sun and moon, things 
that have been done, but can be done no more. Pray, which 
of you, I should say, could expect to imitate with success, or 
indeed would think it right if he could, the deception of Man- 
co Capac, and awe a wild multitude into order by a commis- 
sion from the sun ? What would be your first expedient in 
the attempt to substitute that regularity and constraint which 
they hate, for that lawless liberty which they love ? How 
could you reduce them to be conscious, or incite them to be 
proud, of those wants, for being subject to which they would 
regard you as their inferiors; wants of which, unless they 
could comprehend the refinement, they must necessarily de- 
spise the debility? B^what magic are you to render visible 
and palpable any part of the world of science or of abstraction, 
to beings who have hardly words to denominate even their 
sensations? And by what concentrated force of all kinds of 
magic together, that Egypt or Chaldea ever pretended, are 
you to introduce humanity and refinement among such crea- 
tures as the Northern Indians, described by Mr. Hearne ? 
If an animated young philanthropist still zealously maintained 
that it might be done, I should be amused to tfenk how that 
warm imagination would be quelled, if he were obliged to 
make the practical trial. It is easy for him to be romantic 
while enlivened by the intercourse of cultivated society, while 
reading of the contrivances and the patience of ancient legis- 
lators, or while infected with the enthusiasm of poetry. He 
feels as if he could be the moral conqueror of a continent. 



268 GESTURE. 

He becomes a Hercules amidst imaginary labors; he traver- 
ses untired, while in his room, wide tracts of the wilderness ; 
he surrounds himself with savage men, without either trem- 
bling or revolting at their aspects or fierce exclamations; he 
makes eloquent speeches to them, though he knows not a word 
of their language, which language indeed, if he did know it, 
would perhaps be found totally incapable of eloquence ; they 
listen with the deepest attention, are convinced of the neces- 
sity of adopting new habits of life, and speedily soften into 
humanity, and brighten into wisdom. But he would become 
sober enough, if compelled to travel a thousand miles through 
the desert, or over the snow, with some of these subjects of 
his lectures and legislation. 



Religious Terms. — Foster. 

Would it not be an improvement in the administration of re- 
ligion, by discourse and writing, if christian truth were conveyed 
in that neutral vehicle of expression which is adapted indiffer- 
ently to common serious subjects ? But it may be made a ques- 
tion whether it can be perfectly conveyed in such language. 
This point therefore requires a little consideration. 

One peculiarity consists partly in expressing ideas by such 
single words as do not simply and directly belong to them, 
instead of other single words which do simply and directly be- 
long to them and in general language are used to express 
them ; and partly in using such combinations of words as make 
uncouth phrases. Now is this necessary ? The answer to 
the question is immediately obvious as to the former part of 
the description ; there can be no need to use one common 
word in an affected manner to convey an idea which there is 
another common word at hand to express in the simplest and 
most usual manner. 

And then as to phrases, consisting of an uncouth combina- 
tion of words which are common, and have no degree of tech* 



EXTRACTS FROM CICERO'S ORATIONS. 269 

nicality, — are they necessary ? They are not absolutely ne- 
cessary, unless each of these combinations conveys a thought 
of so exquisitely singular a signification, that no other conjunc- 
tion of terms could have expressed it ; a thought which was 
never suggested by one mind to another till these three or four 
words happened to fall out of the general order of the language 
into the cluster of a peculiar phrase ; a thought which cannot 
be expressed in the language of another country that has not 
a correspondent idiom ; and which will vanish from the world 
if ever this phrase shall be forgotten. But these combinations 
of words have no such pretensions. They will seldom appear 
to express a meaning which it required such a fortunate or 
such a dexterous expedient to bring and to retain within the 
scope of our ideas. Very often their sense is of so general 
and common a kind, that you could easily have expressed it 
in five or ten different forms of words. Some of these phrases 
would seem to have been originally the mere produce of af- 
fectation ; and some to have been invented to give an appear- 
ance of particular significance to ideas which were so plain 
and common, that they seemed to have no force as exhibited 
in the ordinary cast of diction. In religion, as in other depart- 
ments, artificial turns of expression have often been resorted 
to, in order to relieve the obvious plainness of the thought. In 
whatever manner however the language was first perverted 
into these artificial modes, it would be easy to try whether 
they are become such special and privileged vehicles of thought, 
that no other forms of words can express what is supposed to 
be their sense. And it would be found that these phrases, as 
it is within our familiar experience that all phrases, consisting 
of only common words, and having no relation to art or sci- 
ence, can be exchanged for several different combinations of 
words, without materially altering the thought or lengthening 
the expression. I conclude then, the peculiar mode of using 
common words, is not absolutely necessary as a vehicle of 
chris tian truths. 

23* 



270 GESTURE. 

Extracts from Cicero's Orations. 
Extract 1. It was with indignation and concern, my Lords, 
that I saw myself reduced to the necessity, either of disap- 
pointing those who applied to me for relief and assistance, or 
undertaking the disagreeable task of an accuser, after having 
employed myself from my earliest youth in defending the op- 
pressed. I told them they might have recourse to Q. Cseci- 
lius, who seemed the fitter person to manage their cause, as 
he had been questor after me in the same province. But the 
very argument by which I hoped to extricate myself from 
this difficulty, proved a principal obstruction to my design : 
For they would much more readily have agreed to my pro- 
posal, had they not known Caecilius, or had he never exer- 
cised the office of questor among them. I was therefore pre- 
vailed upon, my lords, from a consideration of my duty, my 
engagements, the compassion due to distress, the examples of 
many worthy men, the institutions of former times, and the 
practice of our ancestors, to charge myself with a part, in 
which I have not consulted my own inclinations, but the ne- 
cessities of my friends. It is some comfort however, my 
lords, that my present pleadings cannot so properly be ac- 
counted an accusation, as a defence. For I defend a multi- 
tude of men, a number of cities, and the whole province of 
Sicily. If, therefore, I am under a necessity of arraigning 
one, 1 still seem to act agreeably to my former character, 
without deviating from the patronage and defence of mankind. 
But granting I could not produce such powerful, weighty, and 
urgent reasons ; granting the Sicilians had not solicited me to 
undertake their cause ; or that my connection with them had 
not laid me under any obligations to comply ; and that in this 
whole affair I should profess no other motive than the view of 
serving my country, and of bringing to justice a man, infa- 
mous for avarice, insolence and villainy ; whose robberies and 
crimes have not been confined to Sicily alone, but are like- 



EXTRACTS FROM CiCERo's ORATIONS. 271 

wise notorious over all Achaia, Asia, Ciiicia, Pamphylia ; in 
fine, at Rome before the eyes of all men ; who, 1 desire to 
know, could object either to my conduct or intentions ? 

Immortal gods ! What nobler service can I at this time 
render the commonwealth ? What can I undertake more 
grateful to the people of Rome, more desirable to our allies 
and foreign nations, or more calculated for the safety and ad- 
vantage of mankind in general ? The provinces are plunder- 
ed, harassed, and utterly ruined. The allies and tributaries 
of the Roman people, overwhelmed with anguish and afflic- 
tion, despair now of redress, and only solicit an alleviation of 
their calamities. They who are for having the administra- 
tion of justice continue in the hands of the senators, complain 
of the insufficiency of accusers. And they who are capable 
of acting as accusers, complain of the remissness of the 
judges. In the mean time the Roman people, though labor- 
ing under many hardships and difficulties, desire nothing so 
much as the revival of the ancient force and firmness of pub- 
lic trials. Through their impatience for a vigorous admini- 
stration of justice, they have extorted the restoration of the 
tribunitian power. From the contempt into which our tribu- 
nals are fallen, another order is demanded for the decision of 
causes. The infamy and corruption of the judges have oc- 
casioned a desire to see the censorship re-established ; an 
office, which though formerly accounted severe, is now be- 
come popular and agreeable. Amidst these exorbitant op- 
pressions of guilty men, amidst the daily complaints of the 
Roman people, the infamy of our tribunals, and the odium 
conceived against the whole order of senators, as there ap- 
peared no other remedy for these evils, but for men of ability 
and integrity to undertake the defence of the commonwealth 
and the laws : 1 own I was prevailed upon, out of regard to 
the common safety, to endeavor at relieving the republic, in 
that part, where she seemed most to stand in need of help. 



272 GESTURE. 

Extract 2. And here I think proper to acquaint this gentleman 
before hand, that if the cause in question is committed to my 
care, he must resolve upon changing his whole method of de- 
fence ; and yet the alteration will be such, as may, perhaps, 
tend more to his honor and reputation than he desires ; by 
obliging him to an imitation of those great men, whom he has 
seen make so distinguished a figure in the Forum, Lucius 
Crassus, and Marcus Antonius, who thought themselves at 
liberty to employ no weapons in defence of their clients, but 
integrity and eloquence. He shall have no reason to think, 
if I am charged with the impeachment, that this bench can be 
corrupted without great peril to many. In the cause now 
before you, my lords, though I have indeed undertaken the 
defence of the Sicilians, yet I consider myself as principally 
laboring for the Roman people ; as endeavoring to crush, not 
a single oppressor, which is all the Sicilians have in view, but 
to exterminate and abolish the very name of oppression, 
which is what the Roman people have long desired with ear- 
nestness. What my efforts or success may be, I choose 
rather to leave to the imagination of others, than insinuate by 
any expressions of my own. But what, are you, Csecilius, 
able to effect ? On what occasion, or in what cause, have 
you either given proof of your abilities to others, or so much 
as made trial of them yourself? Do you reflect upon the 
difficulties of managing a public trial ? Of unravelling 
another's whole course of life, and fixing it not only in the 
minds of the judges, but painting it to the eyes and imagination 
of all men ? Of defending the safety of our allies, the rights 
of provinces, the authority of the laws, and the majesty of 
justice. 

Learn from me, now that an opportunity of informing your- 
self first falls in your way, how many qualifications are re- 
quired in the man who undertakes a public accusation : And 
if you can with justice lay claim to any one of them, I shall 



EXTRACTS FROM CiCtRO^S ORATIONS. 273 

frankly give up the point in debate. First, an unblemished 
innocence and integrity : for nothing can be more absurd, 
than for a man to call in question the life of another, who is 
unable to give a good account of his own. I will make no 
particular application of this to you. One thing I believe is 
taken notice of by all, that the Sicilians are the only people 
who have had an opportunity of knowing you : And yet 
these very Sicilians declare, that exasperated as they are at 
the man to whom you pretend yourself an enemy, were you 
to be his accuser, not one of them would be present at the 
trial. The reasons of this refusal I am not willing to repeat. 
It is evident they suspect, what indeed they cannot avoid sus- 
pecting. As they are a shrewd suspicious set of men, they 
imagine you would not bring testimonies from Sicily against 
Verres ; but, seeing the acts of his praetorship and your ques- 
torship are registered in the same journals, rather suspect you 
would secrete their records. An accuser ought likewise to be 
a man of firmness and veracity. Were I disposed to 
think well of your intentions this way, I easily perceive that 
no such qualifications can belong to you. Nor do I mention 
those circumstances, which, if mentioned, you could not dis- 
prove : that before you left Sicily, you was reconciled to 
Verres : that Potamo, your secretary and confident, remain- 
ed with Verres in the province after your departure : that 
Marcus Csecilius, your brother, a most hopeful and accom- 
plished youth, is not only not present and not assisting in 
prosecuting your injuries, but is now actually with Verres, 
and lives there in the strictest friendship and familiarity. 
These, and many other presumptions of a suborned accuser, 
which I omit at present, are to be found in you. This how- 
ever I maintain, that were your inclinations never so good, it 
is impossible you should acquit yourself honestly in the pre- 
sent trial. For I perceive a great many crimes, in which you 
are so much an accomplice with Verres, that you dare not 
touch upon them in the impeachment. 



274 GESTURE. 

Extract 3. Though your crowded assemblies, Romans, be 
always a grateful sight to me ; though this place appears the 
most conspicuous for counsel, and the most honorable for de- 
bate : yet not choice, but the way of life I have been en- 
gaged in from my early youth, have hitherto excluded me 
from this theatre of praise, ever open to the worthy and the 
wise. For as till now I had not reached the age necessary 
to entitle me to so distinguished an honor, and as I judged 
nothing worthy of this tribunal, in which the most consum- 
mate genius and industry were not conspicuous ; I thought it 
best to dedicate my whole time to the concerns of my friends. 
Accordingly this place has always abounded with able plead- 
ers in the cause of the republic : and my talents, employed in 
the defence of private citizens, have by your suffrages been 
crowned with a glorious reward. For when by reason of the 
adjournment of the comitia, I found myself thrice chosen first 
praetor by all the centuries, it was easy for me thence to col- 
lect, both what your sentiments of me were, and what qualifi- 
cations you required in others. Now that lam cloathed with 
all that authority which is annexed to the offices you have 
honored me with ; and as my talents for business are such, 
as the constant exercise of pleading may produce in a man of 
industry ; be assured, that whatever authority I possess, shall 
be exerted in behalf of those from whom I derived it ; and if 
my eloquence carries any weight, I will display it chiefly to 
those who have thought it worthy of reward. And here I 
think I may justly congratulate myself, that unaccustomed as 
I am to harangue in this manner, and from this place, a sub- 
ject presents itself, on which it is impossible not to be eloquent. 
I am to speak of a theme where 1 shall find it more difficult 
to know when to stop, than how to begin ; and where my 
principal study must be, not to search for materials, but to set 
bounds to my oration. 

An important and dangerous war is carried on against your 



EXTRACTS FROM CICERo's ORATIONS. 275 

tributaries and allies, by two very powerful monarchs,Mithri- 
dates and Tigranes : of whom the one being provoked, and 
the other not pushed after his defeat ; they think a favorable 
opportunity offers to possess themselves of all Asia. Letters 
are daily brought from that quarter to the Roman knights, 
men of character and eminence, who have a great interest in 
the collection of your revenues; and on account of my near 
connection with their order, have thought proper to lay before 
me the cause of the republic, and the danger to which their 
own private fortunes are exposed : that in Bithynia, now a 
Roman province, a great number of villages are burnt down: 
that the kingdom of Ariobarzanes, which borders on your 
tributaries, is wholly in the power of your enemy : that Lu- 
cellus, after a series of great exploits, is about to relinquish 
that war; that his successor is but ill provided for the execu- 
tion of so difficult an enterprise : and that the unanimous 
voice of citizens and allies, points at and demands one person 
for the conduct of this war, as the only man alive who strikes 
terror into our enemies. You see then the point in question : 
it now remains for you to consider what is fit to be done. 
The nature of the war is such, as ought to rouse alt your 
courage, and kindle your warmest resentment. It regards 
the glory of the Roman people, which your ancestors have 
transmitted with so much lustre in all things, but principally 
in the science of arms. It regards the safety of. your friends 
and allies, in defence of which your fore- fathers have sus- 
tained many heavy and dangerous wars. It regards the 
surest and fairest revenues of the commonwealth, without 
which we can neither support peace with dignity, nor furnish 
the necessary expenses during war. In fine, it regards the 
private fortunes of many illustrious citizens, whose prosperity 
demands your utmost attention, both on their own and the re- 
public's account. 



276 GESTURE. 

Extract 4. Where can I find expressions equal to the valor 
of Cneus Pompey ? What can any one deliver on this sub- 
ject, either worthy of him, new to you, or unknown to the 
most distant nations? For these, as common opinion would 
have it, are not the only virtues of a general ; industry in bu- 
siness, intrepidity in dangers, vigor in action, promptness in 
execution, prudence in concerting: All which qualities ap- 
pear with greater lustre in him, than in all other generals we 
ever saw or heard of. Italy is a witness, which the victorious 
Sylla himself owned was delivered by his valor and timely 
succour. Sicily is a witness, which he extricated from the 
many dangers that surrounded her on every side, not by the 
terror of his arms, but by the promptitude of his counsels. 
Africa is a witness, which overflowed with the blood of those 
very enemies, that in numerous swarms laid waste her fields. 
Gaul is a witness, through which a way was laid open for our 
legions into Spain, by the slaughter of her armies. Spain is 
a witness, which has often beheld multitudes of our enemies 
overthrown and cut to pieces by this hero. Italy is again and 
repeatedly a witness, which when oppressed with the cruel 
and formidable war of the gladiators, implored his assistance 
in his absence. The very rumor of his approach damped and 
broke the force of that war, and his arrival extinguished and 
cut it up by the roots. At present all maritime states, all for- 
eign kingdoms and nations, the whole extent of the ocean, 
with the most distant bays and harbors on every coast, are so 
many witnesses of his merit. For what sea was of late years 
so well guarded as to be secure ? So retired as to escape the 
researches of our enemies? Where was the sailor, that in 
venturing himself upon the ocean, did not hazard the loss ei- 
ther of life or liberty ; being obliged to traverse seas covered 
with pirates, or expose himself to the inclemency of the win- 
ter ? Who would ever have believed, that a war so consider- 
able, so shameful, so lasting, so various and widely diffused 



277 

could have either been finished in one year by all the generals 
of the commonwealth, or by one general in the compass of a 
whole life ? What province did you possess at that time un- 
infested by pirates ? What branch of your revenue was safe £ 
Which of your allies did your arms screen from insult ? What- 
slate was protected by your fleets ? How many isles were 
forsaken by their inhabitants ? How many confederate cities 
were either abandoned through fear, or became the prey of 
merciless pirates ? 

But why do I confine myself to the mention of remote trans- 
actions ? It was of old, it was, I say, the distinguishing char- 
acter of the Roman people, to make war upon distant coun- 
tries, and employ the forces of the empire, not in defence of 
their own habitations, but to guard the properties of their al- 
lies. Shall I take notice of the seas being shut up to your al- 
lies, when the very armies of the republic durst not pass over 
to Brundusium, but in the dead of winter ? Shall I complain 
of the many prisoners made of foreign nations on their journey 
to Rome, when a ransom was paid even for the ambassadors 
of the Roman people ? Shall I mention how unsafe the ocean 
was to merchants, when the twelve lictors of your chief mag- 
istrate fell into the hands of pirates ? W T hy should I speak of 
Cnidus, Colophon, or Samos, with innumerable other stately- 
cities taken by the Corsairs, when yon know that your very 
harbors, those harbors whence you derive your strength and 
greatness, were forced to submit to their sway ? Have you 
forgot that the celebrated port of Cajeta, when full of ships> 
was, in presence of a Roman preetor, plundered by pirates i 
That the children of the very man, who had formerly fought 
them on that coast, were by them carried ofT from Misenum ? 
Need I deplore our loss at Ostia, so dishonorable to the com- 
monwealth, when a fleet commanded by a Roman consul, was 
taken and destroyed by pirates, almost within view of Rome 
itself? Immortal gods ! could the incredible and astonishing 
valor of one man, in so short a time throw such a lustre on the 

24 



278 GESTURE. 

state, that you, who so lately saw a fleet of enemies in the 
mouth of the Tiber, hear not now of one pirate within the lim- 
its of the Mediterranean ? Nor must I forget with what dis- 
patch all this was executed, though you yourselves are no 
strangers to it. For what man, either urged by the calls of 
business, or prompted by a desire of gain, could in so short a 
time visit so many coasts, and accomplish so many voyages, 
as the fleet under the command of Pompey has done in the 
pursuits of war ? 



Extract 5. Ability in war is not the only qualification we 
are to look for in a great and consummate general. Many other 
illustrious talents ought to accompany and march in the train 
of this virtue. And first, what spotless innocence is required 
in the character of a general ? What temperance in all cir- 
cumstances of life ? What untainted honor ? What affabil- 
ity ? What penetration ? What a fund of humanity ? Let 
us briefly examine how conspicuous all these qualities are in 
Pompey : For here, Romans, we shall find them in the most 
exalted degree. But we can never so well know and com- 
prehend them by considering them a part, as when we judge 
of them in comparison with others. Is that man to be ranked 
among the number of great generals, in whose army commis- 
sions are bought and sold ? Can he have high and honorable 
views for the interest of the state, who employs the money 
furnished out of the treasury towards the carrying on a war, 
either in bribing the magistrates to procure him some benefi- 
cial province, or in serving the mean purposes of usury at 
Rome ? Your whispers, Romans, discover, that you know 
the persons chargeable with this reproach. For my part, I 
name nobody ; nor can any one take offence, without previous- 
ly owning himself guilty. But which of you is ignorant of the 
many cruel calamities occasioned by this avarice of genera's 



EXTRACTS FROM CICERo's ORATIONS. 279 

in all places where our armies come ? Call to mind the 
marches that have of late years heen made by our generals in 
Italy, through towns and territories belonging to Roman citi- 
zens. You will thereby the more easily be enabled to form 
a judgment of what must have passed in foreign countries. I 
will even venture to affirm, that your enemies have suffered 
less by the arms of your troops, than your allies by furnishing 
them winter-quarters. For that general can never restrain his 
soldiers, who is unable to restrain himself; nor be an impar- 
tial judge with regard to others, who declines an impartial trial 
in his own case. Is it any wonder then that Pompey should 
be allowed so far to surpass other generals, when his march 
through Asia Was conducted with such order and discipline, 
that not only the hands, but the very footsteps of his numerous 
army, are said to have been without the least offence to the 
nations at peace with Rome. And as to the moderation at 
present observed by his troops in their winter-quarters, every 
day's letters and talk bear witness to it. For so far is any one 
from being compelled to contribute to the maintenance of his 
soldiers, that even such as voluntarily offer are not permitted : 
In this way we behold the true ^spirit of our ancestors, who 
considered the houses of their friends and allies, not with an 
eye to the cravings of avarice, but as places of refuge against 
the severity of winter. 

But let us now consider this temperance in other respects. 
To what think you are we to attribute the incredible celerity 
and despatch of his voyages ? For sure neither the extraor- 
dinary strength of the rowers, nor the matchless art of the pi- 
lots, nor the indulgent breath of new winds, wafted him so 
swiftly to the ends of the earth. But those indirect aims that 
are wont to create so many obstacles to others, retarded not 
him in the prosecution of his design. No avaricious views di- 
verted him into the pursuit of plunder, no criminal passion se- 
duced him into pleasure, the charms of a country provoked 
not his delight, the reputation of a city excited not his curios- 



280 GESTURE. 

ity, nor could even labor itself soothe him into a desire of re- 
pose. In fine, he laid it down to himself as a law, not so much 
as to visit those paintings, statues, and other ornaments of the 
Greek cities, which the generals, his predecessors thought they 
might carry off at pleasure. Accordingly all the people in 
those parts consider Pompey, not as a general sent from Rome, 
but as one descended from heaven : And they now at last be- 
gin to believe, that there were formerly among the Romans, 
men of this heroic moderation ; a tradition, which foreign na- 
tions have of late regarded as fabulous, and contrived to im- 
pose upon posterity. But now the lustre of our empire has 
spread itself over these countries : now they begin to be sen- 
sible, that it was not without reason their ancestors, while we 
had magistrates of such distinguished moderation, chose rath- 
er to be subject to the Roman people, than to command over 
others. Besides, he is so easy of access to those in a private 
station, and so ready to listen to the complaints of the injured, 
that though in dignity he surpasses the greatest princes, in 
gentleness he appears on a level with the lowest of the peo- 
ple. His prudence in counsel, his majestic and copious elo- 
cution, with that dignity of person which speaks him born to 
command, have often been experienced by yourselves, Ro- 
mans, in this very place. What are we to think of his good 
faith towards his allies, when his very enemies of all nations 
own it to be without stain ? Such too is his humanity, that^it 
is hard to say, whether his foes more dread his valor in the 
field, or are charmed with his moderation after conquest. 
And shall it then admit of a doubt, whether the management 
of this important war ought to be committed to a man, who 
seems by divine appointment sent into the world, to put an end 
to all the wars that harass the present age ? 



EXTRACTS FROM CICERO'S ORATIONS. 281 

Extract 6. The people of Rome were sensible, Q. Horten- 
sius, that when you, and such as were in your way of think- 
ing, delivered your sentiments upon the law then proposed, 
you did it with an honest intention. And yet, in an affair 
that regarded the common safety, they were more swayed by 
a sense of their own sufferings, than a respect for your 
authority. Therefore one law, one man, one year, not only 
delivered us from that state of wretchedness and infamy, but 
effectually proved to all nations and people, that we were at 
length become the real lords of the earth and sea. On this 
account I cannot forbear expressing a greater indignation at 
the affront offered to Gabinius, shall I say, or Pompey, or, 
as was really the case, to both, in refusing to let Pompey have 
Gabinius for his lieutenant-general, though he earnestly 
sought and desired it ? Ought the general who demanded an 
agreeable lieutenant to assist him in so great a war, to have 
been refused ; when other commanders, who marched out to 
plunder the provinces, and pillage our allies, carried with 
them what lieutenant-generals they pleased ? Or ought the 
man who proposed a law tending to secure the honor and 
safety of Rome and all nations, to have been excluded from 
sharing the glory of that general and army, whose destination 
was the fruit of his counsels, and effected at his personal 
peril ? Could C. Falcidius, Q. Metellus, Q. Ccelius Latinien- 
sis, Cn. Lentulus ; all of whom I mention with respect, be one 
year tribunes of the people, and the next appointed lieutenant- 
generals : And shall such a vigorous opposition be formed 
against Gabinius alone, who in a war carried on in conse- 
quence of his law, and by an army and general of his ap- 
pointment, ought, doubtless, to have the preference to all 
others ? But I hope the consuls will bring the affair before 
the senate ; or if they shall decline it, or raise any difficulties, 
I here declare, that I myself will undertake the business ; 
nor shall the contradictory decrees of any man, Romans, deter 
me, under your protection, from asserting your just rights and 
24* 



282 GESTURE. 

privileges ; nor shall I regard anything but the interposition 
of the tribunes, which I hope will not without repeated con- 
sideration be exerted upon this occasion, even by those who 
threaten us with it. And truly in my opinion, Romans, Au- 
lus Gabinius, the author of the maritime war, and all that was 
then done, is the only person proper to act as an assistant to 
Pompey ; because the one, by your suffrages, devolved that 
war upon the other ; and he on whom it was devolved, under- 
took and brought it to a period. 



Extract 7. Although it is not usual with me, Romans, in 
the beginning of my pleading, to give an account of the rea- 
sons that induce me to undertake the defence of my client, 
because I have always considered my connections with my 
fellow-citizens, as a sufficient plea for interesting myself in 
their affairs : yet as the cause I am now engaged in regards 
the life, the reputation, and the whole fortune of C. Rabirius, 
I think it incumbent upon me to lay before you the motives 
of my present conduct ; because the same reasons that so 
powerfully induced me to undertake his defence, should no 
less forcibly urge you to acquit him. For as ancient friend- 
ship, the merit of the man, common humanity, and my con- 
stant practice through life, jointly called upon me to defend 
Rabirius : so the safety of the state, my duty as consul, in 
fine, the consulship itself, which together with the public tran- 
quillity has been entrusted to my care in conjunction with 
you, compelled me to engage zealously in his cause. For it 
is not any criminal imputation, any jealousy of his conduct, 
or blemish in his morals ; nor, in short, any old, just, and 
weighty resentment of his fellow-citizens, that have brought 
Rabirius into the present danger : but the design of abolishing 
out of the commonwealth that sovereign preservative of our 
majesty and empire, which has been handed down to us from 



EXTRACTS FROM CICERO^S ORATIONS. 283 

age to age by our ancestors : that the authority of the senate, 
the power of the consuls, and the concurrence of the honest, 
might henceforth be of no effect against what threatened the 
utter ruin and subversion of the state. Accordingly, it is with 
a view to overthrow all these bulwarks of the public safety, 
that an attack is now made upon the old age, weakness, and 
helpless condition of a single man. If therefore it be the 
duty of a provident* consul, when he sees the main pillars of 
the commonwealth shaken and almost overturned, to fly to 
the assistance of his country, to watch over the safety and for- 
tunes of the people, to implore the protection of his fellow- 
citizens, and to look upon his own safety as but second to 
that of the state ; it is no less incumbent upon brave and hon- 
est citizens, such as you have approved yourselves in all the 
exigencies of the commonwealth, to shut up every avenue of 
sedition, to strengthen the defences of the state, to be per- 
suaded that the whole executive power of the government re- 
sides in the consuls, and the whole deliberative in the senate, 
and to judge that whatever follows these maxims, is more 
worthy of praise and honor, than pains and penalties. The 
task therefore of defending Rabirius, falls principally to my 
share ; but the zeal and concern for his preservation ought 
to be in common to us both. 



Extract 8. Should your country, Catiline, address you in 
these terms, ought she not to find obedience, even supposing 
her unable to compel you to such a step ? But did you not 
even offer to become a prisoner ? Did you not say, that to 
avoid suspicion, you would submit to be confined in the house 
of M. Lepidus ? When he declined receiving you, you had 
the assurance to come to me, and request you might be se- 
cured at my house. When I likewise told you, that I could 
never think myself safe in the same house, when I judged it 



284 GESTURE. 

even dangerous to be in the same city with you, you applied 
to Q. Metellus the praetor. Being repulsed here too, you 
went to the excellent M. Marcelius, your companion ; who, 
no doubt, you imagined would be very watchful in confining 
you, very quick in discerning your secret practices, and very 
resolute in bringing you to justice. How justly may we pro- 
nounce him worthy of irons and a jail, whose own conscience 
condemns him to restraint ? If it be so then, Catiline, and 
you cannot submit to the thought of dying here, do you hesi- 
tate to retire to some other country, and commit to flight and 
solitude a life, so often and so justly forfeited to thy country ? 
But, say you, put the question to the senate (for so you affect 
to talk,) and if it be their pleasure that X go into banishment, 
1 am ready to obey. I will put no such question ; it is con- 
trary to my temper : yet will [ give you an opportunity of 
knowing the sentiments of the senate with regard to you. 
Leave the city, Catiline ; deliver the republic from its fears ; 
go, if you wait only for that word into banishment. Observe 
now, Catiline ; mark the silence and composure of the as- 
sembly. Does a single senator remonstrate, or so much as 
offer to speak ? Is it needful they should confirm by their 
voice, what they so expressly declare by their silence ? But 
had I addressed myself in this manner to that excellent youth 
P. Sextius, or to the brave, M. Marcelius ; the senate would 
e'er now have risen up against me, and laid violent hands 
upon their cousul, in this very temple ; and justly too. But 
with regard to you, Catiline, their silence declares their ap- 
probation, their acquiescence amounts to a decree, and by 
saying nothing they proclaim their consent. Nor is this true 
of the senators alone, whose authority you affect to prize, 
while you make no account of their lives ; but of these brave 
and worthy Roman knights, and other illustrious citizens, who 
guard the avenues of the senate ; whose numbers you might 
have seen, whose sentiments you might have known, whose 
voices a little while ago you might have heard ; and whose 



EXTRACTS FROM CICERo's ORATIONS. 285 

swords and hands I have for some time with difficulty re- 
strained from your person. Yet all these will I easily engage 
to attend you to the very gates ; if you but consent to leave 
this city, which you have so long devoted to destruction. 

But why do I talk ? As if your resolution was to be sha- 
ken ? Or there was any room to hope you would reform ? 
Can we expect you will ever think of flight ? or entertain the 
design of going into banishment ? May the immortal gods 
inspire you with that resolution. Though I clearly perceive, 
should my threats frighten you into exile, what a storm of 
envy will light upon my own head ; if not at present, whilst 
the memory of thy crimes is fresh, yet surely in future times. 
But I little regard that thought, provided the calamity falls on 
myself alone, and is not attended with any danger to my 
country. But to feel the stings of remorse, to dread the rigor 
of the laws, to yield to the exigencies of the state, are things 
not to be expected from thee. Thou, O Catiline, art none of 
those, whom shame reclaims from dishonorable pursuits, fear 
from danger, or reason from madness. Begone, then, as I 
have already often said : and if you would swell the measure 
of popular odium against me, for being as you give out, your 
enemy, depart directly into banishment. By this step you 
will bring upon me an insupportable load of censure ; nor 
shall I be able to sustain the weight of the public indignation, 
shouldst thou, by order of the consul, retire into exile. 



Extract 9. For all my important services, Romans, I de- 
sire no other reward of my zeal, no other mark of honor, no 
other monument of praise, but the perpetual remembrance 
of this day. It is in your breasts alone, that I would have all 
my triumphs, all my titles of honor, all the monuments of my 
glory, all the trophies of my renown, recorded and preserved. 
Lifeless statues, silent testimonies of fame ; in fine, whatever 



286 GESTURE. 

can be compassed by men of inferior merit, has no charms 
for me. In your remembrance, Romans, shall my actions be 
cherished, from your praises shall they derive growth and 
nourishment, and in your annals shall they ripen and be im- 
mortalized : nor will this day, I flatter myself, ever cease to 
be propagated, to the safety of the city, and the honor of my 
consulship : but it shall eternally remain upon record, that 
there were two citizens living at the same time in the repub- 
lic, the one of whom was terminating the extent of the em- 
pire by the bounds of the horizon itself; the other preserving 
the seat and capital of that empire. 

But as the fortune and circumstances of my actions are 
different from those of your generals abroad, in as much as I 
must live with those whom I have conquered and subdued, 
whereas they leave their enemies either dead or enthralled ; 
it is your part, Romans, to take care, that if the good actions 
of others are beneficial to them, mine prove not detrimental to 
me. I have baffled the wicked and bloody purposes formed 
against you by the most daring offenders ; it belongs to you 
to baffle their attempts against me : though as to myself, I 
have in reality no cause to fear anything, since I shall be pro- 
tected by the guard of all honest men, whose friendship I have 
forever secured ; by the dignity of the republic itself, which 
will never cease to be my silent defender ; and by the power 
of conscience, which all those must needs violate, who shall 
attempt to injure me. Such too is my spirit, Romans, that I 
will never yield to the audaciousness of any, but even provoke 
and attack all the wicked and the profligate : yet if all the 
rage of our domestic enemies, when repelled from the peo- 
ple, shall at last turn singly upon me, you will do well to con- 
sider, Romans, what effect this may afterwards have upon 
those, who are bound to expose themselves to envy and dan- 
ger for your safety. As to myself in particular, what have I 
further to wish for in life, since both with regard to the hon- 
ors you confer, and the reputation flowing from virtue, I have 



EXTRACTS FROM CICERO'S ORATIONS. 287 

already reached the highest point of my ambition. This how- 
ever I expressly engage for, Romans, always to support and 
defend in my private condition, what I have acted in my con- 
sulship ; that if any envy be stirred up against me for pre- 
serving the state, it may hurt the envious, but advance my 
glory. In short, I shall so behave in the republic, as ever to 
be mindful of my past actions, and show that what I did was 
not the effect of chance, but of virtue. Do you, Romans, 
since it is now night, repair to your several dwellings and 
pray to Jupiter, the guardian of this city, and of your lives : 
and though the danger be now over, keep the same watch in 
your houses as before. I shall take care to put a speedy 
period to the necessity of these precautions, and to secure 
you for the future in uninterrupted peace. 



Extract 10. I understand, my lords, that the whole accu- 
sation consists of three heads ; the scandal of Murena's life ; 
the want of dignity in his character and family ; and bribery 
in the late election. As to those three charges ; the first, 
which should have been the most weighty, was so weak and 
trifling, that the common forms of accusation, rather than any 
real ground of censure, seem to have compelled the prosecu- 
tors to touch upon Murena's life. They tell us he has been 
in Asia, a country which he visited not for the purposes of 
pleasure and luxury, but traversed in a course of military toils. 
If in his youth he had neglected to serve under his father, 
whose lot it was to command in those parts, might it not have 
been presumed, that he either dreaded the enemy, or his fath- 
er's discipline, or that his father had rejected him as unfit for 
the duties of war. Does custom allow sons ; even before they 
take the robe of manhood, to sit with the general in his tri- 
umphal car ; and was Murena to decline adorning his father's 
triumph with military trophies, that by sharing with him in his 



288 GESTURE. 

exploits, he might be entitled likewise to partake of his hon- 
ors. Yes, my lords, Murena was in Asia, and bore a consid- 
erable part in encountering the dangers, relieving the fatigues, 
and congratulating the victories of his gallant father. And if 
Asia lies under any imputation of luxury, there can be no 
glory in having never seen it, but in living temperately in it. 
Therefore the name of Asia ought not to have been objected 
to Murena, since thence the glory of his family, the fame of 
his race, and the renown and lustre of his own character, are 
derived : but his accusers should have charged him with some 
disgrace and blemish of life, either contracted in Asia, or im- 
ported from it. For to have served in the greatest, and at 
that time the only war in which the people of Rome were en- 
gaged, to have served with cheerfulness in an army which 
his father commanded, and to see his services terminate in the 
victory and triumph of his father, are proofs of his courage, 
his piety, and his good fortune. Malice can fasten no censure 
upon these transactions, seeing they have all an undoubted 
claim to praise. 

Cato calls L. Murena a dancer. If this reproach be well 
grounded, it is a weighty accusation ; but if false, it is an out- 
rageous calumny. Wherefore, M. Cato, as your authorit}" 
carries so much influence with it, you ought never to snatch 
a charge from the mouths of the rabble, or the slanderous lan- 
guage of buffoons ; nor ought you rashly to call the consul of 
the Roman people a dancer ; but to consider how many other 
crimes a man must needs be guilty of, before that of dancing 
can be truly objected to him. For no body ever dances, even 
in solitude, or a private meeting of friends, who is not either 
drunk or mad. Dancing is always the last act of riotous ban- 
quets, gay places, and much jollity. You hastily catch at a 
charge, which must necessarily be the result of all other vices, 
and yet object to him none of those excesses, without which 
that vice cannot possibly subsist ; no scandalous feasts, no 
amours, no nightly revels, no lewdness, no extravagant expense. 



EXTRACTS FROM CICERo's ORATIONS. 2S& 

And if no blemishes of this kind, which however they may 
pass under the name of pleasures, are in reality vices, appear 
in his character, do not expect to find the shadow of luxury in* 
a man, upon whom you cannot fasten the imputation of luxury 
itself. Can nothing then be objected to the morals of Murena ?: 
Nothing at all, my lords. The consul elect, whose cause E 
now defend, can be charged with no fraud, no avarice, no* 
perfidy, no cruelty, no petulance, nor indecency of expression. 
So far is well : you see here the foundation of my defence ;; 
for I have not yet displayed, as I shall afterwards do, almost) 
by the confession of his enemies, the praise that belongs tife 
him as a virtuous and worthy man. 



Extract 11. We ought not to dissemble this truth, which 
cannot be concealed, but declare it openly : We are all in- 
fluenced by the love of praise, and the greatest minds have 
the greatest passion for glory. The philosophers themselves 
prefix their names to those books which they write upon the 
contempt of glory ; by which they show that they are desirous 
of praise and fame, while they affect to despise them. Deci- 
mus Brutus, that great commander and excellent man, adorned 
the monuments of his family and the gates of his temples with 
the verses of his intimate friend Attius ; and Fulvius, who- 
made war with the iEtolians attended by Ennius, did not scru- 
ple to consecrate the spoils of Mars to the Muses. In that city 
therefore, where generals, with their arms almost in their 
hands, have reverenced the shrines of the muses and the name- 
of poets ; surely magistrates in their robes, and in times of 
peace, ought not to be averse to honoring the one, or protect- 
ing the other. And to engage^ you the more readily to this y 
my lords, I will lay open the very sentiments of my heart be- 
fore you, and freely confess my passion for glory, which,. 
though too keen perhaps, is however virtuous. For what I did 

25 



290 GESTURE. 

in conjunction with you durin gmy consulship for the safety of 
this city and empire, for the lives of my fellow-citizens, and 
for the interests of the state, Archias intends to celebrate in 
verse, and has actually begun his poem : Upon reading what 
he has wrote, it appeared to me so sublime, and gave me so 
much pleasure, that I encouraged him to go on with it. For 
virtue desires no other reward for her toils and dangers, but 
praise and glory : Take but this away, my lords, and what 
is there left in this short, this scanty career of human life, that 
can tempt us to engage in so many and so great labors ? 
Surely, if the mind had no thought of futurity, if she confined 
all her views within those limits which bound our present ex- 
istence, she would neither waste her strength in so great toils, 
nor harass herself with so many cares and watchings, nor 
struggle so often for life itself; but there is a certain principle 
in the breast of every good man, which both day and night 
quickens him to the pursuit of glory, and puis him in mind 
that his fame is not to be measured by the extent of his pres- 
ent life, but that it runs parallel with the line of posterity. 

Can we who are engaged in the affairs of the state, and in 
so many toils and dangers, think so meanly as to imagine 
that, after a life of uninterrupted care and trouble, nothing 
shall remain of us after death ? If many of the greatest men 
have been careful to leave their statues and pictures, these 
representations not of their mind but of their bodies ; ought 
not we to be much more desirous of leaving the portraits of 
our enterprises and virtues drawn and finished by the most 
eminent artists? As for me, I have always imagined, whilst 
I was engaged in doing whatever I have done, that I was 
spreading my actions over the whole earth, and that they would 
be held in eternal remembrance. But whether I shall lose my 
consciousness of this at death, ^or whether, as the wisest men 
have thought, I shall retain it after, at present the thought de- 
lights me, and my mind is filled with pleasing hopes. Do not 
then deprive us, my lords, of a man, whom modesty, a grace- 



EXTRACTS FROM CICERO'S ORATIONS. 291 

fill manner, engaging behavior, and the affection of his friends 
so strongly recommend ; the greatness of whose genius may 
be estimated from this, that he is courted by the most eminent 
men of Rome ; and whose plea is such that it has the law in 
its favor, the authority of a municipal town, the testimony of 
Lucullus, and the register of Metellus. This being the case, 
we beg of you, my lords, since in matters of such importance, 
not only the intercession of men, but of gods is necessary, that 
the man, who has always celebrated your virtues, those of 
your generals, and the victories of the Roman people ; who 
declares that he will raise eternal monuments to your praise 
and mine for our conduct in our late domestic dangers ; and 
who is of the number of those who have ever been accounted 
and pronounced divine, may be so protected by you, as to 
have greater reason to applaud your generosity, that to com- 
plain of your rigor. What I have said, my lords,, concerning 
this cause, with my usual brevity and simplicity, is, I am con- 
fident, approved by all : What I have advanced upon poetry 
in general, and the genius of the defendant, contrary to the 
usage of the forum and the bar, will, I hope, be taken in good 
part by you ; by him who presides upon the bench, I am con- 
vinced it wilL 



Extract 12. All this, my lords, may very easily be refuted. 
For why should she particularly make choice of the public 
baths, in which I don't see how gentlemen in full dress can 
possibly be concealed ? For at the entrance of the bath, they 
must be seen ; were they to thrust themselves into the inner 
part, their shoes and clothes must incommode them ; admit- 
tance too might have been denied them, unless perhaps that 
powerful lady procured it by bestowing a bribe on the 
bagnio keeper, besides the full price of bathing. And indeed 
I was very impatient, to hear the names of these worthy men, 



292 GESTURE. 

who are said to be witnesses of the seizing of this poison ; for 
as yet none of them have been named. I do not question 
however, but they are very considerable persons; in the first 
place, as they are intimate with such a lady, and in the next, 
as they undertook to conceal themselves in a bath ; a favor, 
which no degree of power whatever could have procured her, 
but from men of the greatest honor and dignity. But why do 
I mention the dignity of these witnesses? Observe their 
bravery and address. They concealed themselves in a bag- 
nio. Excellent witnesses ! Then they rushed out of a sud- 
den. Grave gentleman truly ! The story is thus told ; when 
Liciniuscame with a box in his hand, and endeavored to give 
it away, but had not as yet done it, these noble witnesses 
without name, rushed out of a sudden ; upon this Licinius, 
who had already stretched out his hand to deliver the box, 
drew it back, and, being frightened at the sudden attack of 
these gentlemen, betook himself to flight. O the mighty 
power of truth, which easily defends herself against the con- 
trivances, subtlety, and artifice of mankind, and against all 
the secret arts of fiction ! 

All this fable which is invented by a lady that has long 
dealt in fictions, how void of probability is it? How uncon- 
nected and intricate ? Why did so many men suffer Lici- 
nius to escape ? For their number could not be small, both 
that it might be the easier to seize Lucinius, and that the mat- 
ter might be the better attested. Was it more difficult to 
seize him, when he drew back that he might not deliver the 
box, than if he had not drawn back ? For they were placed 
there on purpose to seize Licinius, to catch him in the fact, 
either with the poison about him, or after he had delivered it. 
This was all the lady proposed ; this was the business of 
those who were employed by her ; and why you should say 
that they rushed out rashly, and loo soon, I cannot conceive. 
This was what they were employed for ; with this view they 
were placed there, that the poison, the plot a in a word the 



EXTRACTS FROM CICERo's ORATIONS. 293 

whole villany might be clearly discovered. Could they have 
rushed out more opportunely than when Licinius came in:? 
When he held the box of poison in his hand ? For if the 
lady's friends had sallied forth and seized Licinius, after it 
was delivered to the slaves, he would have called out for 
assistance, and denied that the box was delivered by him ; 
and in this case, how could they have convicted him ? Would 
they have said they saw him ? Why this, in the first place, 
must have brought upon themselves an accusation for a very 
heinous crime ; and in the next, they must have affirmed that 
they saw what they could not possibly have seen from the 
place where they were concealed. They showed themselves 
therefore the very moment that Lucinius came, when he was 
going to give the box, when he was stretching forth his hand, 
when he was delivering the poison. This then is the end of 
a farce, not of a comedy, in which when there is no con- 
clusion, some person makes his escape, the benches creak, 
and the curtain is drawn. 



Extract 13. I know that C. Caesar's political sentiments and 
mine, were different ; but, notwithstanding this, as I have 
often said of him in this assembly, he desired, he proposed, 
he invited, he begged of me to share in his consulship, and in 
those honors which he communicated to his nearest relations. 
It was perhaps too great a desire of showing the steadiness of 
my principles, that kept me from joining his party ; but I was 
not fond of entering into a strict intimacy with one, whose 
favors could not even prevail upon me to think as he did. It 
was debated under your consulship, whether his acts of the 
preceding year should be confirmed or annulled. What need 
I say more ? If he thought there was so much vigor and 
courage in me alone, that his acts would be abolished, if I had 
opposed them ; why should I not pardon him for preferring 

25* 



294 GESTURE. 

his own safety to mine ? But, to omit what is past ; as Cn. 
Pompeius espoused my interest with all his zeal, with infi- 
nite labor, at the hazard of his life, as he went xound the 
municipal towns in order to serve me, implored the assistance 
of all Italy, was frequently with P. Lentulus the consul who 
first proposed my return, was always ready to declare his 
sentiments upon the matter in the senate, and in assemblies 
not only professed himself my defender, but even a suppliant 
for me ; knowing that C. Csesar had great interest, and was 
withal no enemy of mine, he made him his associate and as- 
sistant in all the services he did me. Do you see now that I 
had reason not only not to be offended with those persons you 
described, but to have a friendship for them ? One of them, 
which I shall never forget, was as much my friend as his own ; 
the other, which I shall forget in time, was more his own 
friend than mine. In a word, it was with us, as with brave 
men ; who, tho' they fight hand to hand, yet, after the com- 
bat is over, lay aside their enmity, when they lay aside their 
arms. But Caesar never could hate me, even when we were 
at variance. For such is the nature of virtue, the very sha- 
dow of which you are a stranger to, that the beauty of its ap- 
pearance even in an enemy captivates the brave. 

And indeed, Conscript Fathers, I will tell you my real sen- 
timents, and what 1 have often already declared, in your hear- 
ing. Though C. Ccesar had never been my friend, but had al- 
ways shown a disinclination to me ; though he had slighted my 
friendship, and acted the part of an intolerable and implaca- 
ble enemy towards me ; yet after the great things he has 
done, and still continues to do, I could not help loving him. 
While he commands, we have no need of the ramparts of the 
Alps to guard us against the inroads of the Gauls, nor of the 
ditch of the Rhine, so full of whirlpools, against those of the 
savage nations of Germany ; were the mountains themselves 
levelled, and the rivers dried up, Italy, though deprived of all 
the barriers of nature, would by his victories and exploits alone 



EXTRACTS FROM CICERO^ ORATIONS. 295 

be strongly fortified. But, as he has the highest esteem and 
affection for me, and deems me worthy of all manner of hon- 
or ; shall you draw me off from my quarrel with you to a 
breach with him ? Shall you thus, by your villainous arts, 
make the wounds of your country bleed afresh ? Though you 
well knew my intimacy with Csesar, you affected not to know 
it, when you asked me, though withtrembling lips, why did I 
not impeach you ? As for my part, I shall never rid you of 
that concern by denying it to you; I must consider, however, 
how much trouble and uneasiness I, who am so zealous a 
friend, should thereby give one who has so important a war 
upon his hands, and public concerns of such consequence to 
embarrass him. Yet I am not without hopes, notwithstanding 
the spiritless inactivity of our young Romans, and their want 
of due ardor in the pursuit of glory and fame, that there are 
some among them who will be disposed to strip this despica- 
ble carcase of the consular spoils ; especially, when the crim- 
inal is so dispirited, so feeble, so enervate a wretch as you, 
who have conducted yourself in such a manner, as to show 
you was apprehensive of being thought unworthy of the favor 
conferred upon you, if you did not exactly copy after that 
worthy gentleman who sent you. 



Extract 14. And observe, Conscript Fathers, how widely 
this clemency of Csesar extends. All of us, who were driven 
into the war by an unaccountable and destructive fatality of 
the state, though we are certainly in some degree liable to the 
imputation of human infirmity, yet are we evidently acquitted 
of guilt. For though he has, at your intercession, preserved M. 
Marcellus to the republic, yet has he, unsolicited, restored me 
to myself and to the state; and likewise restored, to them- 
selves and to their country, those illustrious men, whose num- 
ber and dignity grace this assembly : He has not brought his 



296 GESTURE. 

enemies within these walls, but generously imagined that most 
of those who opposed him engaged in the war rather through 
ignorance and groundless fears, than from principles of am- 
bition, or a love of cruelty. In that war, indeed, I thought it 
advisable to hearken to proposals of peace, and was not a lit- 
tle grieved that not only an accommodation,but even the petition 
of the citizens who earnestly implored it, was totally rejected. 
Never was I active in these or any other civil commotions ; I 
have always been an advocate for peace and tranquillity, al- 
ways an enemy to war and bloodshed. I joined Pompey on 
friendly, not political principles; and so strongly was I influ- 
enced by a grateful sense of my obligations to him, that not 
only without any ambition, but even without any hope, I rushed 
voluntarily upon evident destruction. My advice relating to 
the war, was far from being secret. Before matters came to 
an extremity, I stated largely the advantages of peace in this 
assembly; and during the war I maintained the same opinion 
even at the hazard of my life. Whence none can form so 
unjust an estimate of things as to doubt what were the senti- 
ments of Caesar upon this head, since he immediately resolved 
to preserve those who were the advisers of peace, but behaved 
with more resentment to the rest. This conduct might not 
perhaps appear so surprising, when the event of the war was 
uncertain, and victory doubtful ; but when he who is victo- 
rious caresses the friends of peace, he gives the clearest proof 
that he would rather not have fought, than have conquered. 

And as to this point I am an evidence in behalf of M. Mar- 
cellus for our sentiments were always the same, as well in war 
as in peace. How often, and with what concern have I seen 
him trembling at the insolence of some amongst us, and the 
inhumanity to which victory might transport them ? Hence 
it is, Csesar, that we who have been witnesses of these things 
ought to be the more sensible of your generosity : for we are 
not now weighing the merits of the cause, but the consequences 
of victory. We have seen your victory close in the field 



EXTRACTS FROM CtCERo's ORATIONS. 297 

where it was won, and have never seen a sword drawn with- 
in our walls. The citizen we lost, fell in battle, not by ihe 
insolence of victory ; whence there can be no doubt but that 
if it were possible Caesar would recall many from the shades, 
since he now saves all he can from destruction. As to the 
other party, I shall only add what we were all afraid 
of, that had they been successful they would have been 
outrageous ; since some'amongst them not only threatened 
those who were actually in arms, but sometimes even the 
neutral and inactive, and publicly declared that they would 
not enquire what a man thought, but where he had been : So 
that it seems to me as if the immortal gods (though they may 
have raised this distructive, this calamitous civil war to punish 
the Roman people for some aggravated offence) being ap- 
peased or sufficiently avenged, had at length directed us to 
hope for safety from the wisdom and compassion of our con- 
queror. Wherefore rejoice in this amiable quality ; enjoy 
your fortune and dignity ; enjoy your virtue and noble dispo- 
sition ; from which the wise derive the highest delight and 
satisfaction. When you reflect on the other illustrious actions 
of 'your life, thouhg you will find reason to attribute much to 
your bravery, yet, more must be attributed to your good for- 
tune ; but as often as you think of us, whom you have re- 
served to enjoy with yourself the happiness of our country, so 
often shall be revived in your mind the pleasing remembrance 
of your extensive beneficence, of your amazing generosity, 
and of your unparalled wisdom ; virtues, which I will venture 
to say, not only constitute the highest but the only happiness 
of our natures. So distinguished a lustre is there in de- 
served applause, so great a dignity in magnanimity and true 
wisdom, that these seem the gift of virtue, while other bless- 
ings are only the temporary loan of fortune. Continue there* 
fore to protect the good ; those especially who fell not 
through ambition or depravity of mind, but erred through an 
imaginary apprehension of their duty, weak perhaps, surely 



298 GESTURE. 

not criminal, and supported by an appearance of patriotism. 
If you have been dreaded by any, their fears are not to be 
charged to your account; on the contrary, 'tis your highest 
honor that most men now perceive there was no foundation 
for them. 



APPENDIX 



NOTES ON PART III. 

The object of all gesture must be either emphasis or 
illustration. Emphasis is indicated primarily by the modi- 
fications of the voice, and only in a secondary view by 
gestures. Still they are highly important as an accom- 
paniment, and often add much to impression. Emphatic 
gesture should consist simply of energetic strokes, which 
are exactly correspondent to the time and degree of em- 
phasis. While different writers have expressed a great 
variety of views in describing gesture, some, (as in the 
Rhetorical Reader,) giving general directions only, and 
others, (as Austin, and Russell in his excellent Treatise,) have 
been quite minute, I here design merely to present the sug- 
gestions which seem best adapted to aid in forming right ha- 
bits at the outset, leaving the speaker afterwards to his own 
taste. The first object in emphatic gesture is force. This 
can only be attained by deep feeling, aided by healthy cor- 
poreal energy. So important is this first element of good 
gesture that it is found effective even when action is uncouth, 
to the last degree. Whatever the form of the motion, 
whether a jerk of the head, or a stamp of the foot, or a blow 
of the fist on the desk, or a motion of the open hand, or 
clinched hand, or finger, it must spring from feeling or it is 
intolerable. This will appear more evident if the speaker 
will rehearse the following examples with emotion, and some 
kind of emphatic movement, always ending on the emphatic 
word. " Why alone dost thou appear ?" u Twenty guin- 
eas to the man who brings a ladder ! " " Give me a rope /" 
" Again and again it rose." " He fell for five and thirty 
feet !" " What's hallowed ground ?" " To live in hearts 
we leave behind is not to die." " Still warrior art thou 
strong" " He threatens ruin to the whole." " The spirits 
I have raised abandon me." " How beautiful is all this visi- 
ble world ! " Whence art thou." — In addition to these, the 
Appendix to the Rhetorical Reader affords a number of ex- 
cellent examples. 



300 • APPENDIX. 

But in addition to necessary force — awkwardness is to be 
avoided, and ease, and even elegance of action is to be secu- 
red for the full effect of emphatic gesture. To secure this, let 
the principles of gesture laid down in the Rhetorical Reader 
be carefully studied, especially the following.—' All angular, 
crooked motions and positions are to be avoided,' and ' the 
arm and hand should move with great promptitude, especially 
at the termination of a gesture.' In regard to position, form 
of the hand in Emphasis, and the whole subject of Illustra- 
tive Gesture — I would refer the speaker to " Russell's Trea- 
tise on Gesture," in which he will find full directions, and ac- 
companying plates. — With these remarks in view, I would 
suggest that the " Key of Gesture," see page 250, be em- 
ployed, first, as a guide in learning declamation, applying the 
letters ( e. b. b d. ado. etc.) in the gestures which they desig- 
nate as required ; and, secondly, by teacher or friend who 
marks faults in this way, while criticising a rehearsal. 

The position of the feet, (1 f . 2 f . etc.) are designed to corres- 
pond with those which are usually thus designated, and there- 
fore familiar probably to all who may wish to use them. — The 
following notes apply this notation to the pages, to which they 

c. r. e. r. 

refer in Fart III. (Page 252, line 2,) Mammon, God— (line 3,) 

e.r. e.r. e v b. 

means end — (and in succeeding lines — ) in extending, etc. — 

e. O 3 e. b. e r 

more land, — both hemispheres — mind, — etc. (Page 253,)—- 

e r. e. r. 

unknown,— enough, and in other similar cases through the 

O 3 ICP ret - ey. fixed, av. 

piece. (Page 256,) cave,— there, — for there, etc. The patriot 

h erect. bo firm, e. cl. 

three, etc. And leagued, etc. 

How far this plan of notation will subserve the object for 
which it is designed must depend much upon the patience and 
taste of the speaker. Whether this key is employed or not 
however, it should be ever remembered, that were the whole 
subject of action summed up in a few words, they would be 
\ Energy, Propriety, Ease, Gracefulness. 



CONTENTS. 



Preface 

Suggestions to beginners in declamation 



Pag$. 
. 3 
. 8 



PART I. 
INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 



An example of strong emotion 
An example of colloquial narrative 



Senator Wickliffe. 
Rev. W. IV. Thompson, 



F. Badger. 
Anon, 



A plea for China, addressed to the British ministry Dr. Phillip. 
Judicial decision ..... Judge Purviance. 

The Sea ........ Greenwood. 

The Nestorians Dr. Anderson. 

The Home of the Poor 

American Enterprise 

The Pioneer's narrative . * . Rev 

Church order 

The voice of Shipwreck 

Detraction Mrs. Opie. 

Bible view of Man's Future State .... Stuart. 

Slander . . . . . . . Milford Bard. 

Man's primeval State ...... Catlin. 

The " Portuguese Man of War/' .... Anon. 

Importance of a knowledge of Civil Institutions . Sullivan. 
Lafayette at Washington's Tomb . . . Levasseur. 

Temperance Anon. 

A Painting from Nature . . . . Goodman. 

A suspicious Case ...... Goldsmith. 

Career of Buttman ..... Dr. Robinson. 

Intellect and Will Upham, 

Chinese Habits ...... Dr. Lardncr. 

Metaphysics . . . . . . , Dr. Day. 

Bible Testimony . . ~ . . . . . Dr. Day. 

Bunker Hill Monument ....".. 

Self Control . . . . . Rev. L. Matthews. 

The Massachusetts Licence Law . . . Abbott. 

Artificial means of producing Rain . . . Blake. 

Christian Enthusiasm ...... Anon. 

The younger Pitt Brougham. 

Duty of acquiring a Musical skill L. Mason. 

Qualities requisite to successful Speaking . Dr. Skinner. 

Control of the Thoughts .... Burder. 

26 



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302 



eONTEKTS. 



Inspired truth the Preacher's Guide 

Value of Personal Description in Passports 

Legislative control over Slavery . 

Extract from a Speech of E. Livingston 

Flesh and Spirit . . . " . 

Basis of Infidelity .... 

Course of government in the Amistad Case 

A Scene in the Northern Ice 

Lord Thurlow and Lord Eldon 

Frontier Fortifications 

Appeal to the Court in the Amistad Case 

Political Slander . . 

Security of the Civil Compact of the United 

Destruction of Scio .... 

Extract from a Speech of E. Livingston 

Spirit-selling, a curse to the Seller 

Restoration of the Jews 

Full Preparation for the Ministry 

The Preacher's Qualifications 

Efforts for Seamen .... 

Co-workers with God .... 

Truth of the Bible proved by its Morality 

Extract from a Speech of Bayard 

Extract from a Speech of Morris 

An irreligious life leads to Infidelity 

Christianity and Natural Religion 

Ancient Grecian Slavery 

Duplicity of Jacob 

The Polar Star 

Thoughts on Thompson's Life . 
The Arch Enemy . 

Luther 

Laws of Nature 

Influence of Vice over Reason 

Riensi 

Stone-cutting the business for Convicts 
The four ages of Civilization 
Importance of National Mementoes 



Burder. 

J. Q. Adams. 

Sargtant. 



Thoiuck. 
Wdson. 
J. Q. Adams. 
Scorcsby. 
Brougham. 
Monroe. 
J, Q. Mams. 
H. R. Storrs, 
States H. R. Storrs. 
Webster. 

Dr. Cogswell. 

Dr. Cogswell, 

. Dr. Skinner. 

. Dr. Skinner. 

Ch. Philanthropist. 

Ch . Ph ilanth rap ist . 

Prof. Edwards, 



Wilson. 

Wilson. 

Biblical Repository. 

Bush. 

Sturm. 

Anon. 

Cunningham, 

Alexander Boicer. 

Arnott. 

Shaftsbury, 

Gibbon. 

Rev. L. Dwight. 

Voltaire. 

Majs. Hist. Coll. 



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1C4 



PART II. 



xMODULATION. 



The Sun 

Philo's Version of Judah'i 



Speech before Joseph 



Resistance to Papal Error 
Infidelitj^'s boast .... 

Common and Scientific Language 
Trial for Constructive Treason, impolitic 
Obstinacy of Pilate . - . . 

Plea at Burr's trial .... 
Extract from a Speech of Pinekney 



Stur 



Dr. Matheson. 

Robert Hall, 

. Dr. Marsh. 

Mr, Wick ham. 

. Philo. 

Randolph. 



106 
J 07 
109 
110 
112 
114 
116 
117 

no 



•ONTfcKTS. 



303 



Rights of eina.il States to equality in the Senate . Tracy. 

Navigation of the Mississippi ..... Ross. 
Address of Dr. Bethune before the Colonization Society 
Grounds of War . . . . . Clinton. 



View of the Coliseum 
Egyptian Ruins found at Rome 
Extract from a Speech of Josiah Quincy 
Extract from Wirt's plea at Burr's trial 
Extract from a Speech of Mr. Clay 

War 

Plea of Webster .... 

Extract from a Speech of Burke 

The Mechanic's Delegation 

An American Wind-storm 

Literary Censorship of the United States 

Voluntary Associations of Christian Benevolence 

Extracts from Demosthenes' Orations 

Boldness of our Saviour 

Souls never die 

The Patriot's Wish . 

Xerxes 

Adam 

Thy History 

An Ocean Storm 

The returned East-lndiaman 

The Church-Yard 

The Wife of the Brigand 

The Dead on the field of Waterloo 

The Egytian Tomb , 

A Maniac's harangue, addressed to 

Influences which modified Hebrew 

Bolingbroke and Richard . 

Scene before the Battle of Agincourt 

Soliloquy — Henry VI. 

A Good man .... 

Traveller overwhelmed in Snow 

The Ghost of drowned Edmund 

Grecian Degeneracy 

Death of the Chief of Ulva's Isle 

Execution by beheading 

The effect of fright 

Jephthnh .... 

Death of Henry Martyn 

Battle of Lucena 

Death of Sykes, the murderer 

Hallowed Ground 

Regulus before the Roman Senate 

The Spider and the Bee 

Soliloquy from Manfred 

The Moslem Bridal Song 

Belshazzar . . 

The Tournament 



Dewey. 
Dewey. 



R. Hall. 



Dr. Reed. 

Dr. Reed. 

Prof, Edwards. 

Ibid. 



J. Abbott. 

Dana. 

C. Sprague. 

Jewsbury. 

Jeicsbury. 

Montgomery. 

W. Read. 

W. Read. 

II. Knowles. 

Croiy. 

Anon. 

W. L. Bowles. 

street crowd . Gey on. 

terature Dr. Turner. 

Skakspeare. 

Shakspcare. 

Skakspeare. 

Young. 

Thompson. 

Southey. 

Byron. 

Campbell. 

Byron. 

Southey. 

Willis. 



Boz. 

. Campbell. 

. Jeicsbury. 

Anonymous. 

Byron. 

Croly. 

Croiy. 

Anon. 



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301 



CONTENTS. 



The Midnight Wreck 

The Spirit of Poesy 

A Church Yard 

The Return from India 

The Widowed Mother 

An Arabian Song 

Balak and Balaam . 

Homily of Chrysostom 

Court character 

Career of Bossuet . 

Address of Bossuet to the King 

Forgiveness of Injuries 

The dignity of the ministerial office 

Calvin's Speech, on his return from Exi 

Speech of Prince Galitzin of Russia 

Speech of Mr. Jay 



le 



Anon. 



Wilson. 



Wilson, 

Hemans. 

Paid. 



The Mbe de Soule. 



Mas sill on, 
R. Hall. 



j£27 
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230 
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237 
239 
240 
241 
243 
244 
246 
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248 



PART III. 

GESTURE. 

Our Country's Destiny .... Prof. Edwards 

Value of Self-educated young men in the United States Ibid 

The burial of Christ 

Thoughtlessness on Religion 

The Cavern of the Tells 

Theseus 



The Crusader's Return 

England's Dead 

The man of Decision 

Romantic Views 

Religious Terms 

Extracts from Cicero's Orations 

Appendix .... 



Schavjjier. 

Schavjjier. 

Hemans. 

Hemans. 

Hemans. 

Hemans. 

Foster. 

Foster. 

Foster. 



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